Cowardice
by janey-gnosis
Summary: Story picks up shortly after the book ends: Jack Merridew isn't as tough as everyone believed and Ralph tries to hang on to his innocence. Jack and Ralph later discover their true similarities and differences. PLEASE SEE MY PROFILE FOR IMPORTANT INFO.
1. Scars

Cowardice 

**Just a few notes before we begin**: I've never posted anything on the net before, so I'm looking forward to reviews: the more brutal the **better**. I realize this is totally boring right now so you don't have to tell me… but you can anyways if you really want. Please do tell me what I can improve on so far, and rest assured, it will get more dramatic and romantic and all that good stuff.

I had to read this for English class and, of course, I couldn't help but to read between the lines. Ralph and Jack worship each other until Jack goes all psycho: this much is clear. According to Golding, Jack is "ugly". Well, we all have different tastes. I'll bet you Golding is just jealous. By show of hands, how many think Jack is ugly?

… That's what I thought. Well, he gets ugly on the inside, but whatever. Just have to express that I am certain that Jack and Ralph will grow into beautiful young men... better for the… imagery. Yeah.

That's all for now, happy travels.

Part 1—Scars 

Ralph was afraid to open his eyes—afraid to see that he had only imagined the slow, reassuring rock of the ship; afraid to see sand and rock, rather than a homely cabin complete with a wash basin and tiny round window overlooking that eerily blue ocean. Instead, he simply shifted his swollen head on his pillow anxiously.

_Pillow_, he thought. He—now optimistically—lifted his lids and found himself peering over the edge of a tiny, yet heavenly comfortable, cot that took up most of the room in the small cabin. He didn't care that it was a fantastically low class cubby fit for a deck sweeper. It was warm and safe, and he was one of the few of the boys who got a whole cabin to himself. This was most likely due to a certain amount of sobbing on his part and a certain amount of pity on the part of the officers.

Ralph could have lain there for days, half drooping off the soft cot staring at his filthy clothes discarded to the floor, when there was a loud jiggling of the doorknob. With a start he pulled his knees up to his chest and sat back against the wall.

"Hullo?" he called nervously, twisting his fingers in his oversized, clean nightshirt.

The door swung open slowly with a low creak, and Ralph gave a sigh of relief when the man called Luther stepped in, his boots making a hollow noise on the floor. He looked so tall from where Ralph was sitting that it was a wonder his head didn't scrape the ceiling. He had met the man after they'd boarded the cruise ship.

"The others are eating," Luther told him gently, slowly, as if not to startle Ralph, who wondered why he was being spoken to like a child. "Would you like to go join your friends?"

Ralph couldn't picture the boys eating anything but charred pig meat with filthy, greasy mouths and hands.

When he didn't respond, Luther added, "I have some fresh clothes for you… not exactly your size, I'm sure, but it's the best we can do for now." He held up a tiny pile of folded clothes.

Ralph leaned forward and took the clothes. "Thank you," he muttered. "But they're no friends of mine. I can't go out there."

Luther looked confused for a moment, but then stepped into the cabin and shut the door behind him. "I understand what you said to me before—about what happened on that island. But now—"

"They want to kill me!" Ralph cried softly.

"Nobody wants to kill you, Ralph," he said. "I've talked to them. They're all cleaned up and rested like you are."

Ralph was starving, but the small room felt safe, so long as he was shut away from the others. From Jack Merridew. He and Jack had traveled to the ship on separate rowing boats, and they had not seen each other since the chase had ended. All it would take was a push, just one push over the edge of the railing… would the grown-ups really be able to protect him? Somehow, despite what he was telling himself, he really felt that the grown-ups _would_ keep him safe—all of them safe. After all, the officers were already taking them someplace out of harm's way, feeding them, clothing them.

_Be brave, _Ralph told himself. _Be civilized._

"Yes, I'll join them," he said softly, uncertain if anything could be said between he and the other boys anyhow.

The officer seemed pleased with this and ducked out of the cabin politely so that Ralph could get dressed.

As Ralph removed his nightshirt he looked down at his naked body through thin strands of hair that hung in his eyes. His skin still seemed somehow unfamiliar to him with all the dirt and sweat wiped away from it. The one thing he wasn't able to wipe away, however, was his cuts. The bruises would heal, but the cuts would turn to scars, and they would never go away. No matter what he could do to try to convince himself that his days on the island were a dreadful nightmare, his scars would always be a spiteful reminder that he had been through a living hell called Jack Merridew.

The gentle rocks and creaks of the ship eventually brought him back about himself, and he leisurely dressed himself in the oversized shirt and shorts, rolling up his sleeves and tying the belt around his waist as it was much to large for him to fasten properly. It made him feel so small and insignificant being in the big ship, in the big clothes. It made him want to cry as he wondered how if such small people could have made such big trouble, what kind of trouble were the big people making with the war?

_Don't be a coward._

With a reluctant sigh, Ralph marched out onto the deck, not fully certain what to expect and quite certain that he was not prepared for any of it.


	2. Breaking of Bread

Part 2—Breaking of Bread 

When Ralph stepped out onto the deck, he hadn't expected such a somber and awkward picture. All of the boys sat around a large picnic on the deck under the sun, and they looked incredibly odd all in their oversized clothes and long hair, surrounded by the massive cruiser. None of the boys other than two of the littluns even seemed to notice him there, though he knew that they were entirely aware of his presence. They sat slouched on the deck around the food with their heads bowed, and it almost would have looked as though they were in prayer if it wasn't for a few of the youngest boys picking and nibbling cheerlessly at their food.

Ralph did not at first notice any one other than he and the other boys on the deck, which made him even more anxious, however he soon noticed two officers further away to the edge of the boat, working at some task as they kept a watchful eye on Ralph and the others. At first Ralph thought that perhaps they were frightened of the boys, until he realized that they were just giving them some space and some privacy. _They're nothing to be afraid of… think about it, Ralph._

As Ralph approached the picnic he saw no signs of aggression, though his legs were shaking and his heart was shuddering in his chest in utter dread of _anything_. Regardless, his mouth watered at the sight of the bread, canned peas, apples, orange juice, and more exotic Naval rations of the sort, and he sat on the edge of the blanket with a sigh. The silence was eerie, and the growl of his own stomach startled and embarrassed him.

Samneric's heads also shot up at the sound with round, shocked eyes. There was also shame in those eyes, and it gave Ralph some comfort knowing that he could see now, in their shame, that Samneric knew that they had done wrong.

Ralph turned his eyes back down to the blanket and stared longingly at an open can of juicy, glistening peaches. _Why isn't anyone eating?_ He dared himself to take the food, but when his eyes accidentally met the figure in front of him, however, all other thoughts faded instantly and he felt the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck prickle.

There sat Jack, but the sight of him didn't make him scared—at least not for himself. His cheeks were red, his eyes pink and full of tears, and he was staring directly at Ralph's white face. Never had he seen such a perfect image of pain and regret, and he could barely fathom that expression on _Jack's _face. No, he wasn't a hunter or a leader. He was just a scared, buck-toothed boy with oversized ears and a freckled nose who had no excuse or understanding of his own actions.

After a brief moment of pity, the colour came back to Ralph's face and he felt nothing towards Jack. No sympathy, no curiosity, not even anger. He was angry that Piggy and Simon were dead, and he was remorseful, but even though it seemed logical to direct his hatred towards Jack, he couldn't do that. He simply did not care enough.

That was the moment he decided that he would not let the memory of Jack torment him, no matter the horrible things he had done. He wasn't going to feel sad or regretful because of Jack—he just wasn't worth the effort. Why bother letting a bratty, interfering and completely ignorant boy even enter into his thoughts or memories? Jack had been out to make Ralph miserable—and he had, of course. And every time Ralph felt upset at all because of the red-haired bully, Jack would win again and again and again. Ralph was simply not going to allow that.

Without really thinking anymore about it, Ralph pushed a heavy loaf of bread across the cloth on the deck towards Jack's empty hands. He wasn't sure just why he did it. At first, he had meant to do it to repress his anger by countering it with kindness.

Jack's eyes dropped to the bread as he sat motionless for a long while, but then he reached out with unusually clean fingers, though bloodied at the fingernail bases, he took the bread… and he tore the small loaf into two pieces. For the first time since the island, Jack raised his tormented eyes to Ralph and extended an arm across the blanket, offering Ralph the other half of the loaf.

Ralph realized now, uneasily, that Jack was trying to make peace—or perhaps Jack had thought that that was Ralph's intention, which it had not been. He didn't feel the same desire for peace as he had on the island—just safety. Now, though, Ralph was beginning to decide that perhaps peace was not a bad idea… at least for the remainder of the travel onboard the ship. Even if the peace wasn't in their hearts, at least it might put some of the boys at ease. So he took the bread.

There was dead silence as they ate—even the ocean seemed to stand silently still as the cruiser sliced through it—and Ralph felt brave enough to look around at the other boys as he chewed the bread as his tongue and stomach rejoiced. Everyone was watching them nervously. But not minding them so much now, he finished the bread and looked across at what else the picnic had to offer him. His mouth watered and again when he saw the sun dancing off of the moisture of those peaches, and there was a loud gurgling that came from his stomach.

What he hadn't expected to hear was laughter.

Ralph looked up and searched around for the dispenser of the giggle and saw that it was one of the littluns that had noticed him approach in the first place. He was grinning with his lower lip sucked in and he was one of the few who were actually eating the meal in front of him.

Ralph could only stare for a moment, along with all of the others, but after some time he offered the boy a smile. That littlun wasn't too embarrassed or shameful to eat and laugh—he was delighted to be with grownups and to have clean clothes, just like the rest of them should have been. He was free. He was cared for. His laughter sounded beautiful against the soothing _whoosh_ of the ocean splashing all around them again. Ralph realized suddenly that ignorance truly was bliss, and he wanted to have it so badly he became jealous. At the same time though, he couldn't wipe the smile off of his face.

Suddenly all of Ralph's fear just… went away. He didn't want to be scared; he wanted to be like the littluns. And for the first time since he had seen the navel officers on the beach, he felt the overwhelming liberation from fear and pain and his smile was of genuine peace and happiness. Now ready to fully appreciate the food in front of him, he reached out and dipped his fingers into this oversized can of sliced peaches and pulled out a large, slippery slice of fruit, fully aware that everyone was watching him still As he was ready to pop it into his mouth, his hands, shaking from malnourishment and fatigue, pinched the fruit too tightly and it slipped from his fingers, shooting up in the air and then plopping down on the picnic blanket; all the while he sat with his mouth wide open.

There was more laughter this time, and not just from the littluns. Ralph took the peach back and stuck it in his mouth with success this time. His taste buds jumped and the ripe fruit felt so soothing in his throat and stomach. As he chewed, Ralph looked around the picnic with a reassuring grin in his face; _it's ok to laugh, it's ok to be happy. We can still be friends_.

When he saw Roger sitting there with a bitterly smug look on his face, Ralph bravely held the canned peaches towards him. He forced a smile, but he knew that his eyes still blazed with utter revulsion. That could not be helped.

"They… they're quite delicious," Ralph said, his voice cracked and meek, though shaking with restrained anger. Ralph felt that if he could act civilized towards Roger after Roger had murdered Piggy, than Roger could certainly pretend to be kind to him.

It was obviously too difficult for him. "Don't you speak to me!" he shouted, standing and looking down across the picnic at Jack. "Jack, don't you see? Don't you see that he's trying to make us come back to his tribe!?" He shook his arms towards Ralph who sat speechless.

Jack hardly seemed moved. "Roger, there are no tribes. Sit down and get a hold on yourself." He spoke it half-heartedly, but it impressed Ralph nonetheless. _So much for blocking him out, _Ralph told himself.

Roger dropped his arms to his side and strode across the picnic. "Jack—Jack, you promised that we'd never go on his side!"

His raised voice made one of the littluns whimper.

"Roger, this isn't a game!" He stood to Roger's level and stared him in the face, their noses nearly touching. "There are no sides or tribes… there are no _chiefs_."

Roger didn't respond.

Ralph licked his lips anxiously, not having expected himself to be ready to go to Jack's aid, should he have needed to.

Just then, a bulky officer appeared from the edge of the ship and walked up to the two standing boys. "What's going on here?" he asked in a deep, rumbling voice. "You two had better break it up." With his bulky hands he pushed the boys apart gently and waited.

Finally, Jack turned and walked off the deck to his cabin without another word, the soft click of the door behind him, while Roger sat back at the picnic sulkily. He did not make eye contact with any of the others, though he did take an apple and began to munch away at it angrily.

Ralph knew that Roger was no real threat, no matter how much he could whine and argue. They were really, truly protected—Ralph saw that for certain now, and he watched the officer gratefully as he left them to be again.

After some time, a chatter started and it rose, and rose, until everyone at the picnic was freely conversing with one another, and eating as much as they pleased. Ralph was thankful, though he felt removed from the whole thing—like he was watching a motion picture. Some minutes after Jack had returned to his cabin, Ralph decided to do the same.


	3. Docking

**Quick Note: **Thank you to everyone who has commented... awesome stuff :) Sorry it took me so very long to finally get this chapter up here. I've been busy with school and theatre stuff, and I just really don't like the way the characters are turning out in this chapter... so I left it forever. But, I want to move on and get to the good stuff, so, here's what I've got for now. Enjoy :)

Part Three—Docking

That evening, things were different on the ship. Following the emotional turmoil came an eerie sense of calm across everyone. It was the sense of awareness afterwards that their apologies had really meant nothing. How could words ever compensate for what had happened on the island? Everyone wanted to acknowledge that they had said sorry and had made it all better by confessing their mistakes, though they were all completely aware of something darker, heavier, more important that was still hanging over their heads. They ignored it; pretended that it had never happened, or at least tried their best to. After all, that was so much easier.

It was just like when Simon was…  
Ralph sat with his head in his hands on his cot, thinking these thoughts, secluded from the rest of the boys who were making some peculiar attempt to once again become nothing but fine British youth. Ralph knew that there was no sense in this. None of them would ever be the same, maybe not even the littluns. He had desired to see peace and friendship between them again, of course, but having wandered around the ship until sunset and having observed all the interactions between the boys he had become almost sickened by the pathetic display.

He continued to return to his cabin again and again after leaving it, to achieve the peace of solitude, and to reflect on what he had learned that day. From the Naval officers he had learned that there was no means of knowing where his father was at the time, and that the boys were all being taken back to England, to the country somewhere, where they would be safe.

Ralph thought about how if only they had just gone to the countryside in the first place, and never have had taken that horrible plane; they never would have crashed on the cursed island.

_But then you never would have met Jack._

Ralph furrowed his brow in a series of staggered thoughts.

_And then you never would have had to deal with that hideous Jack_, Ralph corrected himself in his head.

His earlier goal to think nothing of Jack had proved fruitless. If concerning himself with Jack any longer meant that Jack was winning, than Ralph was defeated, but he didn't care now; he just lay there and wondered. Was Jack feeling as guilty as he looked? Was he afraid, like Ralph had been? Why wasn't he acting like a horrible brat anymore? That was the most eerie part about it—Ralph didn't see any more of that smug arrogance he'd so admired when they'd first met.

_Stop it! Stop thinking about him! _

Ralph allowed himself one final thought, and it was an assurance to his self that Jack was the same murderous, filthy boy that he had been on the island, and that once they got off that cruiser, he would never have to look at his ugly face again.

_He's not that ugly, really._

Ralph squeezed his eyes shut and slapped his hands over his face. He wanted to smother himself in his pillow and make himself disappear. He wanted to go to sleep so the next day would come sooner; so he could get off of the ship and never have to see any of the other boys again; Namely Jack-_'I can sing C sharp'_-Merridew.

* * *

Jack sat impatiently as he watched the docking harbor gradually appear on the foggy horizon. As it grew larger and closer, an apprehensive anxiousness built in him, making him feel somewhat ill when combined with the stench of sea salt and some kind of oil used for an unknown purpose on the cruiser. The boys were to be split into two groups where they would then be transported to two separate countryside manors by train, where they could be safe. They would likely never see or hear from one another again. For one thing he was glad that he would have that many less of the boys to face every day. For another, he knew that if Ralph were to be taken to the other house, this would be his last chance to say anything to him that could be said. It would be the last chance he could try to explain himself, and to free himself of just a little guilt. It wasn't as though he could justify anything that he'd done, but maybe if he could just say something… how would he feel years from then if he never had tried to give anything to Ralph? They could have been such good friends; they really had something together… some unspoken common understanding and connection. They'd both sensed it when they'd arrived on the island, he was certain of that. Numbers of lazy, humid hours together, splashing in the water under the sun, talking, laughing…

"Oi! I'd not sit so close to the edge if I were you, there," called one of the younger officers from across the deck. It took a moment for Jack to realize that he was the one being spoken to. Was it his imagination, or did he feel guilty?

"Why?" Jack asked after a few moments, not moving from his position, though casually clutching the rail a little tighter.

The officer stepped a little closer, looking at Jack with a hint of annoyance. "Because," he said slowly, "it's dangerous. Now come on, lets go get you brushed up, we'll be docking soon."

"What do _you_ know about danger?" Jack piped. He only realized the foolishness of the question the instant he'd finished asking it, but he held his ground stubbornly.

The officer looked insulted and frustrated. "A lot more than you, I'm sure!" He took a few steps closer to Jack, but the red-haired boy only defiantly pulled himself up to sit closer to the edge of the rail.

"Why are you doing that?" the officer demanded in complete frustration. "You do what I tell you and get down _this instant._" He came closer and grabbed onto Jack's upper arm, pulling him onto the deck before he tried to struggle.

"Get your hands offa me!" Jack hollered in the man's face, eyes blazing furiously, shaking his arm free. He noticed some of the other boys now gathering on the deck in curiosity of the ruckus, and it gave him a touch of adrenaline when he knew he was being watched. He pulled his chin up, wondering if there was some way he could earn back the respect of the others now that their eyes were on him. "I do what I like, and you can't tell me a thing—"

"_You_ are out of line, young man!" hollered the officer, grabbing Jack's shoulder firmly, trying to direct him to the right, but Jack would not go, despite the pang of shame he felt when being scolded.

"No, it's you who is out of line! When my father and mother hear about how you've been treating me—"

"Your father and mother?" said the officer with a funny sort of look on his face. "Haven't your parents…" Suddenly the officer's expression dropped to a blank, and his arm fell away from Jack's shoulder. "That is…" his eyes wandered for a moment.

Jack felt as though he had swallowed a block of ice, and a cold tension spread from his chest through his limbs. "What are you talking about?" he asked, all hostility forgotten. "Did you contact my parents like you said you would?"

The officer stared down into Jack's round, hopeful eyes. "No," he murmured. He turned to walk from the deck and shouted behind him; "And you could show a little more respect to the people who are trying to help you."

Jack stood there feeling oddly betrayed. Not only had the officer walked away from him like that after speaking about his parents in such a peculiar way, but that fact that the young man hadn't even bothered to challenge Jack's stubbornness to a point of any resolution made him feel rather useless.

_I want my mum._

Jack flinched when he felt something hot and wet trickle down his cheek, and when he wiped it away, he found that it was a tear. "What is happening?" he whispered aloud, voice shaking, not entirely sure of anything anymore. Nobody would talk with him, nobody would fight with him; nobody cared. He had no home and possibly not even a mother and father as far as he knew, and now he was crying without even knowing why. He had nothing—no value or ownership. He was worthless.

"Jack, are you all right?" a familiar voice called.

When Jack turned around, the ice in his chest melted within a second.

* * *

Ralph had been apprehensive to say anything, but he couldn't simply stand there and watch Jack cry while nobody did a thing but observe. He knew he was far more responsible than that. At the same time, a tiny part of him was shouting inside; _see how _you_ like it, Jack. _Logically, he also knew that Jack would likely suffer from a lot of painful emotions, then and later on, due to what had been happening. Feeling satisfied with this, he felt he might as well do what he could to comfort him for the time being. At least a little.

The fair boy walked timidly to where Jack was standing and put a hand on his shoulder; the same shoulder that the young officer had gripped, but Ralph's hand was gentle. "I asked, are you all right? I mean, what's wrong with you—this isn't like you at all. I expect a lot more of you, you know." Ralph bit his lip to quiet himself, but he knew that a lot worse could have come out of his mouth. Things like: '_You're crying? Good—I would be crying, too, if I was a filthy murderer.' _But he didn't say those things. He was proper, and not at all like the boy standing across from him. Another flicker of satisfied triumph over evil. Strength over weakness.

Jack wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and shook his head. "No, I'm really not," he whispered glancing up at Ralph. "I'm crying for no reason and everyone's looking at me and I may not see my mum and father again and _I bleeding killed your friends_." He sobbed and squeezed his eyes shut rubbing his face with his hands, his words muffled, his tiny body shaking. "I _killed_ them, Ralph, and now I don't know what to do, I don't know what to do… are they going to put me in prison?"

Anger bubbled up in Ralph but he clenched his teeth and tried to think about what to do or say. _I hope you do get put into prison for a very long time, and I hope you shatter your teeth trying to gnaw your way out through the prison bars when they tie your arms up into a straightjacket._ Ralph knew he hadn't spoken the words out loud, but he placed a hand over his mouth and shuddered anyhow, feeling ashamed of himself.

"Hey, you two break it up now," said a somewhat recognizable officer. It was another tall black man, Ralph saw, who looked similar to Luther, who obviously though that Ralph had been bullying Jack. "Jack and Ralph, isn't it? You two don't want to stay on this big boat, do you?"

Ralph looked around and saw that they had docked, and he could see in the near distance that the boys were being ushered down a ramp onto a dock in the foggy mist of the shore. How had he not noticed before? He glanced back into Jack's reddened, wet eyes and felt as though he could drown in them. How long had they been standing there? It had seemed like only a minute or two, but apparently it had been much longer. This baffled Ralph even further.

"Come on now, you two," said the man, "we've got to get you down on the dock with the others."

After a few seconds had passed Ralph numbly registered the pressure on his bare feet as they padded along the deck—he felt himself walking, being carried by his legs, but he was in a daze. Why was he walking, and where would walking take him? There was no salvation, no freedom. No matter how many times he had told himself that it was over, he was safe, and he had the grown-ups, he knew that there was nothing he could do to unlearn and unlive everything he'd experienced. Walking was just a pathetic mean of physical escapism… so was driving away, and hiding from the war in some crummy house. He wanted to walk right out of his mind, forget Jack, and forget everything else.

When he glanced over his shoulder at the red-haired boy behind him, however, their eyes met for a painful moment. With a throb of his veins, his heart, and his brain, he knew that there was nothing he could do to forget that boy called Jack Merridew—even if he truly wanted to.


	4. A Letter

Part Four—A Letter 

Ralph blinked himself back to complete consciousness of the present.

"_Sir,_" droned a nasal voice behind him. He turned to see a beak-nosed sales boy standing behind him with a terribly annoyed look on his face. "Can I _help_ you with something?"

Ralph looked down to the sales boy who barely came up to his chin, and again back to the model cruiser in the shop window. He took the opportunity to glance around himself and recall where he was, and where he was going.

"Sir, please. You can't stand here all day, that's loitering, and you make people not want to come into the shop."

Yes, the shop. It was the hobby shop on the corner a block from Ralph's flat. He was on his way back from the market where he had been not so unexpectedly _let go_ from his job, to put it kindly. He was passing by the hobby shop when he'd spotted a familiar model ship in the display window, and had been taken up in a swoon of bitter memories. How long had it been since the last such occurrence? A day? A week? Time was beginning to erode the memories. And now, how long had he been standing here on the sidewalk? If he hadn't pawned his pocket watch he'd have checked the time. Instead, he picked up his feet and carried himself around the bend before his ears would have to withstand anymore of the shrill questions that came out of the young sales boy.

Ralph's flat was relatively empty, stale smelling, and dim with only a few spots of muted light soaking through the yellowed curtains. A small fan whirred and rattled in the corner to circulate the humid air, but surely all it really did was make noise. The residence was small enough that the two windows in the sitting area provided enough light for the kitchen and what could have been called a bedroom; a futon pushed against a far wall towards the back of the flat.

The futon was looking quite soft and lovely to him at that moment as he kicked off his shoes. He made his way to the unmade bed and lay himself down. For some reason, he didn't feel the relief of resting his tired body against the spring mattress after a long day. The foam pillow against the back of his head gave him little comfort. The tiny squeaking springs annoyed him.

The fan hummed lowly and came to a stop. No doubt in need of repair.

Ralph knew how that felt. Mentally and physically he was sore and tired. He needed a bath, a haircut, and bandages for his blistered, overworked hands. He needed someone to talk to, a book to read, and a break in the routine. A cold glass of water would refresh him nicely—he knew he was dehydrated because his throat hurt, his mouth was dry, and his thoughts were fuzzy and fragmented. Ralph had broken his last drinking glass the night before. Drinking from bloodied hands lacked simple dignity. He could not even refresh himself like a civilized human being.

Yes, he was broken and, like his fan, in need of repair. But unlike him, the simple electrical device had a purpose. What would Ralph do if he could fix himself? If he cleaned up, watered his self, and mended his psychological bruises, then what?

After a long moment of utter, sour stillness, Ralph finally reached back and pulled the unfluffed pillow from beneath his head and let his heavy skull fall back against the mattress. He held the pillow a couple of feet above his face and noted the temporary wet tear stains on the cover. He had been crying, but he didn't feel like he had been. He felt nothing—only a distant, droning ache in the back of his mind, and it had been there for some time.

Last week, the newspaper had talked about a prison inmate who had smothered himself with a pillow in his cell. His suicide note had crudely stated that it was his only escape from his mistreatment and confinement he faced every day. At least, though Ralph, the inmate knew that someone would find his letter. Ralph had thought about what he might write a couple of times before remembering that he had no one left who would find such a letter. No family, no friends, no lover. He didn't even have a goldfish to depend on him. He was merely a tiny stain in society that would be washed out in time, with nothing to offer and nothing to take.

Ralph told himself that death would be a great relief, but in his last sighing breaths before lowering the pillow to his face, he allowed himself a tiny thought of desperation. It was the abstract idea that someone who loved him would wish to see him live, because to even just one person, he was not wonderful, not significant, but simply worth _being _for one reason or another. He almost laughed at that thought, but that would mean taking a breath.

He pushed down. The pressure hurt his nose, but he knew that wouldn't last long.

The rattle and scrape of his rusted mail slot startled him and made his heart skip. He didn't even realize at first that he had taken the pillow away from his face to glance at his door. An envelope lay on the floor in a tiny patch of dim light, and he heard the mail boy's soft footsteps pad down the hall until there was only silence again. He was not upset having been interrupted.

What was in the letter? A bill for his rent, most likely. But what if it wasn't? Perhaps he had won some money. Perhaps it was his mother writing to say she would take him back. Perhaps it was simply someone else's mail that had been mistakenly delivered to his apartment. Whatever it was, he soon decided that whatever that envelope held was more promising than his pillow. If he didn't like what the envelope, then he could always just kill himself, he thought with slight amusement.

Ralph didn't realize how much he had been shaking until he stood up on quivering legs to go to the front door. When he reached the letter he picked it up and dropped it again in an instant. Without being able to imagine what the letter was doing in his home, he let himself sit down on the floor, but did not reach again for the envelope.

Scribbled in black ink at the top of the return address was "_Jack Merridew_."

Perhaps suffocation had been the better route after all.


	5. Words on Paper

Note: Oh, you sillies! It took a really long time for anyone to notice all the "Jack" errors I made in here. Thank you very much to Julie for pointing this out. I think I just like the name "Jack" better than "Ralph" or something, I certainly do like to overuse it. Anyways, I have made a couple of small revisions here. Thanks again for all the reviews :)

Part Five—Words On Paper

_Dear Ralph,_

_I hope that you have not torn up this letter by now, but if you have, I understand. If not, do not burden yourself with a reply, for I have neither need nor desire of it. There are some things that I must say to you. _

_That day on the ship when we were children and we broke bread: that was something that I took to be very sincere. Do you remember that day? I know that you probably just had the little ones in mind when that harmony took place, but I did, and do, very much want peace. I cannot have you as an enemy, and I do not wish you to see me as yours. I don't want this to go on forever; it shouldn't have to._

_I am so sorry, Ralph. I am sorry for all the pains and wounds I have caused you, and I say this from the bottom of my heart. I know that these just look like words on paper, but if I could write what it feels like have this much shame and regret in my soul, I would write that._

_It has been nearly seven years. I do not know what kind of man you are now, but I am certain you are a strong leader in whatever you do as I remember you. _

_I will end this now because, despite all the rest that burns to be said, I know that you do not wish to look at this letter for very much longer. There is so much that I want to say to you that I do not quite know how to put. I am sorry for scratching at old wounds with this letter, and I am sorry for my intrusion on your life. _

_Do not respond._

_Sincerely,_

_Jack Merridew_

There were so many questions that Ralph had the instant he finished reading the letter, and before thinking on them too long or forgetting them all together, he flipped the paper over to the blank side and wrote.

_Dear Jack,_

_Why do you call me "Dear" and why do I do the same? I am not dear to you or you to me. I have little to say to you, and it has nothing to do with forgiving or shaming. Why do you tell me not to respond when you write you return address? Either you think that I am daft enough to assume that you really do not expect me to reply, or you were really so thoughtless as to draw your return address out of habit. I think it is the first. I think you do want me to reply because you seem like the type who would need closure—need to know how I really feel about you after all the years past. Of course, there is nothing for me to say in regards to my feelings towards you that I have not already expressed, but I will tell you that what I feel towards you cannot even be measured. There are no words. What is certain, though, you do not frighten me any more. Do I frighten you? _

Ralph paused for a moment. What was he saying, talking about fear like that? He was writing with anger. Why was he corresponding so harshly when Jack had sent him a perfectly composed letter? At the same time, he was overwhelmed and wasn't sure how to react to such an intrusion.

Hearing himself even say that name in his head made him shudder. Whenever he'd thought back to the days on the island, he'd tried so hard not to put names to the faces. It was far less painful that way.

"_Jack,_" he whispered, testing himself, not having heard himself speak that name in some time. The name felt good on his tongue but it sent eerie sensations crawling under his skin. He didn't like it, but he was becoming curious. What would he see in his head if he were to put that name to the redhead's face today? Would he appear differently? Hold his self differently? Surely his voice had changed. There might not be much of the Jack he once knew present in the Jack that existed today, but he honestly could not picture him much differently from the vivid image he held in his mind.

Ralph looked at the envelope and scanned the return address. _London. _Jack was living in London, and the address was actually quite near his. A far wealthier district though. Was he living a life of luxury in a big house with a prize wife-to-be? He almost wanted to believe that. Still, he wasn't certain if he was intrigued or nervous of the idea that Jack had been so close, and not knowing for how long. More than anything he felt angry.

Once again, he put pen to paper.

_I would very much like to see if you are still the coward you once were, and perhaps where I stand in my own bravery. I will be at the Honeybee Teashop (a couple of blocks down from your return address) a week from today at 5:00 pm. I am_

Ralph wondered to himself for a moment…

_interested in meeting with you. _

_-Ralph_

Ralph looked at the note on the table, completely dissatisfied with it. He was certain he didn't always write such unbecoming letters to people, but he was boiling with emotions that were guiding his pen poorly. Without putting too much thought into the paper holding both notes, he stuffed it back into the envelope it had come in. He found a stamp in one of the "kitchen" drawers eventually, which he stuck on top of the old one that had come with the envelope. Ralph scratched out his address on the envelope, leaving only the return address. Surely it would go back to the sender that way. The truth was that Ralph didn't have an envelope or anything of the sort. He'd become quite used to recycling whatever he could. And though the trip was short he was too uneasy to deliver the letter himself.

He was at the door with the abused-looking envelope when he suddenly felt quite faint. He swallowed hard but his throat was sore and his mouth dry. He realized how critically dehydrated he was, and glass or not, he needed water.

His head in the sink moments later, Ralph breathed a sigh of relief as he felt the cool water trickling down the back of his neck and head and face. He closed his eyes and licked up the moist droplets from his lips. At first he enjoyed the barbarity of it before realizing that there was none.

All at once his head began to clear. In that moment of clarity, a memory, so vivid he could almost feel the wet sand squishing beneath his toes, came back to him behind his shut lids. He and Jack were splashing in the water together as children without a care in the world. It was one of their first days together on the island. He remembered being happy. He was happy with Jack who was an admirable child equal to him. When a run of cool water—fresh, not salty—rushed into his mouth he caught himself grinning and remembered that he was in his flat. Of course he stopped grinning instantly, but he had an unusual feeling in the pit of his stomach that he didn't know the name for. It was not uncommon for him to get lost in the past now and then, but that was the only fond thought he'd had of Jack in seven years. It didn't bother or confuse him—simply refreshed him like the water had.

Wiping the wet strands of hair out of his eyes and feeling suddenly very focused, Ralph leaned against the counter and peered down at the letter. He wondered what on earth he was thinking to have written a response when the sender had clearly specified that a response was not necessary. He was clearly out of his mind to have, in addition, arranged to meet with the one person who had been responsible for destroying his childhood and sending him into a dizzying spiral of therapists and medication. And, insane or not, because of all of this Ralph felt alive—really alive, and relieved to be so, which he had not felt in nearly seven years.


	6. Therapy

**Note:** Wow... sorry... this really didn't take long at all to write, but I was out of town for a real long time and didn't have access to my computer to upload. Eek. But, anyways, let me know what you think please. And thanks to anyone who has stuck with this fic since I started it. Also, I'm building my new website where I will house my really steamy upcoming content. I'll be sure to post a link soon.

Part 6—Therapy

Ralph glanced up at the clock mounted on the wall of the rusty coloured teashop. The almost cleverly tea spoon-shaped hands read that it was 4:55, and it must have been at least the tenth time he'd looked at the clock since he'd arrived at 4:50. He'd considered being fashionably late, though he knew it would have been a terror-induced absence.

Terror… was that what he was feeling now? No, surely not. He was petrified beyond belief. He was mortified with himself for offering the invite, and he was pleading in his heart that Jack would not show up. He hadn't received a message in return to his last, so maybe Jack hadn't received the letter. Maybe he'd decided not to show up.

The soft clang of chimes over the doorway signalled a customer's entrance.

Ralph hadn't expected to be caught off guard. He hadn't expected to recognize Jack in a single instant… but he did. Though Jack stood hesitantly inside the doorway without advancing, Ralph could see the recognition in his eyes, even from where he sat across the room. He was taller, yes, his body fuller, his hair a duller shade, and his eyes—his eyes had changed the most severely. There was little left of that confident, imaginative gleam. His eyes were old. No one else had seen the things those eyes had seen; that was clear.

Ralph's heart thudded hard against his ribs. His gut churned and twisted. He didn't know what to feel, and he was experiencing such a knot of unnameable emotions that he was dizzied for a moment. He swallowed hard and stood slowly, signalling that he acknowledged Jack's presence. When he saw the boy—_man—_advancing, he discretely wiped his sweaty palms against his slacks. This would be a brave opportunity. This would be his therapy.

Jack paused a few feet from Ralph, licked his lips, took a deep breath, and extended a hand. Ralph reached out and shook it.

"Hello, Ralph." Jack's deep voice was an exhale as soft as his handshake, which put Ralph a little more at ease. The fact that the handshake had been the first human contact he'd had in several months also gave him some level of sore comfort.

"Hello, Jack."

Ralph sat and Jack sat across from him. Both avoided eye contact and there came a long, awkward silence. Everything that Ralph had wanted to say seemed meaningless all of the sudden. His senses began to irritate him—the smell of honey and burned water, the feel of his weight pressing against the chair—everything felt uncomfortable. He felt like a fool.

"I'm sorry that my response to your letter was so rude," Ralph said abruptly, sounding as though he had pushed out the words with a great deal of effort. He was still looking down at the round paper place mat on the polished wood table. "I had no right to call you cowardly when you were the one who sent me your apologies." He sensed that Jack was looking at the top of his slightly ducked head and decided to face him. His face was now, though tired, more welcoming than the challenging expression it used to hold. His freckles had faded significantly and so had the colour of his hair, so he was not as vibrant as he once appeared to be. He had definitely matured physically: his once overgrown ears and nose were now proportioned to his oddly striking face, and a proper haircut gave him a more gentlemanly appearance.

"You were right, though," Jack responded slowly. "I am a coward. I always have been."

Ralph shook his head slowly looking back down, feeling a pang of guilt that blended superbly with his feelings of foolishness. He remembered now that Jack had gone through as much torment as he had. Being in his physical presence was giving him an entirely different perspective from the one he had previously held. If only Jack had tuned out to be a snobbish boar…

"I didn't mean it," Ralph whispered. He wasn't certain if Jack had heard him. "I meant it at the time, but I was feeling so angry and confused when I got that letter… I was being irrational."

"But it's true. It is," Jack assured him, his voice still at a soft volume. "I never tried to contact anyone involved other than you. I never tried to write to the parents…"

When he didn't complete his sentence, Ralph looked up at him to see that he was resting his face in his hand. He didn't have to finish though; Ralph knew what he meant to say. Before, he had wanted to cause Jack due pain. Now, he was searching desperately for something to say to comfort the obviously troubled man—_boy_, really.

"Please, Jack… do you want to leave?" Ralph wasn't going to keep him there. "It was stupid of me to think that meeting would do either of us any good."

Jack looked up from his palm, his eyes slightly reddened. "Do you want me to go?"

Ralph thought for a moment. No, he didn't. "If you're not comfortable here I don't want you to stay because I asked you."

Jack blinked. "But do you want me to go?"

Ralph swallowed. "No." He briefly wondered why he'd said that, but he hadn't the patience to really search for an answer.

Jack nodded.

Some time later their server had brought them their tea—they had both ordered rooibos tea and were interested to find that it was a shared favourite. Jack had insisted on treating Ralph, for which he was glad because he wasn't sure he had enough money. It was unsettling to be acting like old friends. He felt as though some member of the public might see through their lies, though he tried not to let his paranoia make things any more difficult for him.

As they sat sipping their tea they were both very aware of the opposite's searching eyes. It was natural to study each other, as several years had passed since their last encounter. Ralph had been uneasy to admit it at first, but Jack had certainly turned out to be a very handsome young man. His features were well defined and he had an elegance about him that was not womanly, but gentlemanly.

_Gentlemanly…_ that was a logical way of describing Jack. He was indeed gentle in the way he spoke and moved. There was something almost suspiciously careful about it.

"You said that I'm the only one you tried to contact," Ralph said, remembering what Jack had told him minutes earlier. He looked into his milky tea. "Why me?"

Ralph thought for a long time. "I don't know."

How dissatisfying. Ralph sighed and looked up. "Do you know why you told me not to reply to your letter?"

"I… didn't want you to feel obligated to respond. I didn't want it to be any trouble." Jack took a sip of his tea. Ralph couldn't help but notice that Jack closed his eyes whenever he brought the cup to his lips. He also noticed how red his eyelashes still looked when they fell over his fair skin.

Ralph coughed tensely and tried to think of something else to say. He couldn't.

"I don't know what to say," he admitted.

Jack shrugged. "Neither do I."

Out of nowhere, Ralph remembered something. On cruiser, the officer had been talking about Jack's parents… he still remembered that day well.

"Can I ask… about your parents? I mean, what happened when you got home? I've never talked to any of the others about it." Ralph regretted asking the question as soon as it had come out of his mouth. For one thing, he would feel even guiltier if Jack's parents had not made it through the war as he had suspected from what he'd heard on the ship. For another, he was afraid that Jack would ask him the same question.

"Well…" Jack began.

"No," Ralph interrupted. "Please don't answer that, I didn't even mean to ask it."

"It's all right," said Jack, without realizing that Ralph's request was for his own sake as well. "My father and brother died serving in the war." He said it without any hint of remorse, but that didn't mean it wasn't there. It sounded very automatic, as though he had answered that question many times before. "My mother had… sort of a mental breakdown, you know, trying to deal with a dead husband, dead son, and anther missing at the same time. She went to live with relatives… she didn't get better."

"Did you go into foster care?" Ralph asked, not sure what to say about Jack's loss.

"I went to another boarding school," he said. "My mother continued to make the payments until she died. It was a medical condition… fortunately, she didn't exactly leave me with nothing." Jack scratched his head and paused briefly. "I was old enough to inherit my family's wealth, with no other siblings or relatives entitled to it… so I continued my education until earlier this year when I bought a house and moved to London. I don't think I'll go to college."

Ralph nodded a little, trying to conceal his jealousy. A house was something he wasn't certain he'd ever have. He was interested to notice that despite such a dim past, Jack spoke with an empty sort of optimistic tone.

Jack sighed and offered a self-conscious smile, running his fingers through the back of his hair. "I'm sorry," he said. "You didn't exactly ask for my life story, but there you have it."

"It's all right." Ralph took another sip of his now lukewarm tea as his mind raced in order to change the subject.

"What about your family?" Jack asked. "That is… if you feel comfortable…"

"Why shouldn't I?" Ralph answered all too promptly. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and set his teacup down. "Quite like yours, actually," he said. "My father died in the war. No siblings. My mother… well, she sort of couldn't handle things either." He really almost did stop himself there. "She wasn't so generous with her finances, though."

Jack tilted his head a little to the side. "How do you mean?"

Ralph scanned through his answer, censoring out the unneeded details. He found himself making direct eye contact with Jack, and he wasn't certain why he didn't feel the need to look away. "She… didn't really want much to do with me after…" Ralph's eyes began to sting a little. He blinked furiously and looked away, wondering how he could be sharing the private details of his life with Jack Merridew so openly.

"After you came back from the island," Jack said just above a whisper, as if afraid someone would overhear. "But you didn't do anything wrong."

Ralph shook his head a little. "After therapy, I was going to say. Did you have to see a psychiatrist?"

"A psychologist," Jack admitted flatly.

"You know how it feels, then, to pour everything out of your soul to a stranger, only to have them analyze your every instinct, every emotion, under their own personal magnifying glass…" He waited for Jack to nod. "Do you know what it feels like to have someone betray you when you're that vulnerable?"

Jack chose not to respond. "What happened?"

Ralph rubbed his eye. "He told my mother everything I'd been telling him for a year. He told her I was sick. He was a liar."

Jack was looking at Ralph in a way that encouraged him to continue, his gaze free of any threat or accusation.

"My… my mother believed everything that he said about me. She tried to have me institutionalized. I refused. She threatened to disown me, so I ran away before she had the chance. I haven't heard from her in five years."

Jack shook his head a little. "Where did you go?"

"I came here, to London, with the money I stole from her. I got a job in a restaurant kitchen, did a lot of odd jobs and favours… that way when I needed help there was always someone to repay me." He shook his head and corrected himself. "Not always… but for a while."

"What are you doing now?" Jack asked, a genuine look of concern on his brow.

After realizing how much he had been leaning towards Jack, Ralph sat back in his seat. "Right now I'm having tea with you. After that… I suppose I have to find another job."

"You're unemployed?" Jack asked as if the concept were foreign to him.

Ralph nodded. "I'm managing though. Still kicking." It was close to being a lie, considering what he had been doing the day he'd received Jack's letter.

Jack leaned in a little. "You know I… I work at my father's publishing company—well, technically, I own it. I could see if there's… if…" He stopped himself when he read the expression on Ralph's face. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not your responsibility," Ralph assured him.

"I know that. I'm sorry. It was stupid of me to bring it up." He sighed, obviously uncomfortable.

Ralph nodded and sighed, looking down at his lap. "It feels… easy for me to talk to you, you know."

"Yes, me of all people," Jack said blandly.

Ralph glanced up. "It's just that… I barely know you. All I knew before today was an old memory of you that I… didn't like very much at all."

"That's why it's so easy," Jack explained evenly. "You don't know me. Not really. You don't like me enough to care what I think of your personal life, and it wouldn't be difficult for you to cut me out of your life because I'm not a part of it. Talking to me about anything really has no risk."

Ralph raised an eyebrow. He was absolutely right. Well, not entirely.

"You may be part right, but I can think of a couple of things that I would not tell you," Ralph admitted.

A tiny, uncertain grin passed across Jack's lips. "That's mutual."

A spark of curiosity passed between them. Or was it Ralph's imagination?

Jack glanced at his watch.

"Are you late for something?" Ralph asked, doubting the question.

"I have an appointment," Jack told him apologetically. "With my therapist."


	7. Help Wanted

**Note:** Thanks to the glories of 4U English class I haven't had much time to work on this at all. Sorry. Really. I won't stop until I'm finished, I just can't really find the time that often anymore. And sorry this one chapter is so short. Please continue to review, all the messages have been a great help to me. Thank you.

Part 7—Help Wanted

Ralph was taking a long, winding path home because he was in no hurry to face being alone with his self just yet. As he walked, he felt possessed by an unreal, unnatural sensation; like walking through water, wading languidly through crowds and breathing in too-thick air. His heart beat at its normal speed, but almost too purposefully, as though it was trying to tell him, "Yes, you feel fine. Yes, everything is as it should be," and all the while it seemed to have a veiled agenda under that all too perfect beat.

Ralph asked himself again what had happened over tea with Jack.

They had their tea.

They talked.

Ralph couldn't fool himself into believing something that simple and foolish. For a couple of moment there had been an unbearably comfortable tension between them as they spoke. What they spoke about Ralph could not even remember. The words were hardly of any importance to either of them. The handshake—that had meant something. It was soft, but not feeble. There was something spineless about a handshake what was _too_ soft, but Jack's was just… warm. Pleasant. Satisfying. Their conversation—whatever it had been about—may not have been pleasant, but was also satisfying. Jack's eyes had been concerned and open, not accusative or avoidant.

For only a moment, Ralph's heart seemed to skip a beat, though it recovered quickly enough.

So, what were those moments of perfect ease doing wrapped up with the tension? And now that he thought back to it, why did it strike him as odd that Jack owned a publishing company? Would he be more comfortable knowing that he might be a butcher instead? And Jack was still in therapy, or so he said. What did he need it for? Was it still about the island, or was he having other troubles? What would he tell his therapist? Things he wouldn't tell to other people? What kinds of secrets did Jack Merridew have? Would he have secrets like Ralph's?

Stop right there.

Ralph knew that it was not his place to start answering all of these questions—any of these questions. Perhaps it was nobody's place to answer them. Ralph would never be able to find out just exactly what sort of connection they had shared in that room, or if they were friends now, or why he wanted to see Jack again. If there was some sort of relationship between the two of them, there was absolutely no word for it yet. Maybe, though, it was best to let it all be. Leave it behind. Jack could and would remain a mystery, even if he was by far the most—

Ralph's feet and thoughts came to a halt in front of a shop window, posted in which was a tidy, small sign that read, "HELP WANTED."

"I know how you feel," he almost said to the sign before ducking into the bookshop to find an application. He briefly considered how lucky the store was to have such a powerful little sign. If the store needed help, it put up a "help wanted" sign, and help would come. Ralph was never quite so lucky.

In a couple of minutes a woman appeared who looked like every librarian Ralph had ever seen. She gave him an application form and took it back wordlessly after he had spent some time filling it out, skimmed it over through her spectacles, and then told him to come back the next day for further information.

As Ralph was leaving, trying to envision himself working in a bookstore having read very few books in his time, something very odd happened. Just as he opened the door, someone on the outside was opening it as well, and that, of course, was Jack.

For a couple of seconds, or maybe longer, they stood in the doorway standing face to face. Ralph's mind was a blank. He finally realized that he needed to move for Jack to get in, and that he had probably come to look at books and not at Ralph. Standing to the side and unblocking the door, Ralph allowed Jack to move past him.

He tried not to notice the gooseflesh that rose on his forearm when Jack's wrist brushed his.

Jack seemed a little struck and could not take his eyes off of Ralph, which put Ralph at ease knowing that he was not the only one caught off guard.

Ralph let the door fall shut and stayed inside the shop.

"Fancy seeing you here," Jack said, finally, offering a shy smile after a couple of seconds. "I manage this store."


	8. Hidden Spines

Note: I have been without a computer for 2 months. It's been hell. I don't know how I made it. But I did, and this is what happened when I got it back:

Part 8 – Secret Spines

Ralph had been told that the meeting in the back office was to be a conversation: not an interview. Ralph wasn't sure which he would prefer, and he couldn't tell yet what exactly this meeting was. He sat alone in a small, windowless office—or if there was a window it would have been impossible to tell because nearly floor to ceiling on every side of him were stacks of books, papers, and folders.

The door opened and in ducked Jack. "I'm sorry about the wait," he said.

"It's all right," said Ralph. He felt a little like he was at an appointment with his doctor. Doctors always kept him waiting. Jack had been away for a moment because, as had told him before, he needed to retrieve the proper paperwork. "But I can tell you now that if working here means sorting out all of this… _stuff_, I may not be the man for the job."

Jack offered a smile and sat at the small desk beside Ralph. "No, don't think on it. These are all damaged," he gestured to the stack at the right of him, "And these are simply receipts and inventory records, and these just part of my personal collection, and those there… well. You're not interested in all of this. Shall we just get started then?"

Ralph tried not to be intimidated by the amount of reading that Jack obviously did. He was trying to read the spines of some of the novels in Jack's "personal collection" stack when he responded with, "I thought you said this was supposed to be just… a conversation?" After he decided that none of the titles on the spines were visible to him, he finally turned his gaze to Jack and wondered for the tenth time how on earth he had wound up where he was.

Jack sighed with a seemingly forced smile and cast his gaze downward. "Look…" he said, flattening out Ralph's application form on the desk. "This is just as peculiar as it is unexpected."

Ralph watched Jack's fingers tracing the edges of the form on the desk. "You're telling me."

"Yes, well… then, you see…" Jack was obviously uncomfortable, though he tried to speak slowly and with confidence. "I don't exactly know how to go about this. It has been a very strange day."

Ralph didn't doubt that Jack was as uneasy as he was, but it gave him comfort to hear him express it. If Jack really weren't bothered or anxious about their meeting together, it would have made Ralph feel incredibly pathetic.

"Yes. Very strange."

There was a long pause. Ralph thought that perhaps it would be best that he not take the job. But his stomach ached from hunger and he knew he needed to gain an income soon—very soon. In fact, he felt a grumble coming from his stomach and tried to think of something to say quickly to cover it. Fortunately, Jack spoke.

"Normally I'd be advised against hiring someone I have such a… strong history with…"

Strong history seemed to be a very ambiguous choice of words. "If you feel it would be best that I leave…" He wasn't sure if he felt relieved that he could get away, or terrified that he would have to leave without a job: without a lot of things he needed.  
"No, not at all. Please, excuse me for being so rude… I'm just not certain where to start. I cannot seem to make this as formal as I normally would like to." Jack finally lifted his head to look at Ralph. A moment of wordless focal contact was clearly unsettling to him, and Jack picked up a pair of square spectacles, placing them on his face. They certainly made him look scholarly as he pretended to read over Ralph's application. "I would like to hire you. I would like to very much…"

Ralph was more interested than disappointed when he heard the underlying note of contradiction in Jack's voice. "But…?"

Jack sighed and leaned foreword. "Ralph. Honestly, do you feel comfortable being hired by me? Can you really see yourself working for me? With me? Do you feel like it's fair?" He took off his classes again and put them on the table, staring at them. All of the sudden his face looked open and vulnerable.

Fair? Ralph's stomach sank. "Do you mean to say that the credentials I listed for you are insufficient?" They probably were insufficient.

Jack knew that Ralph understood what he was saying and this time when he spoke he leaned foreword. "Ralph. Honest. You know what I mean, so don't be stubborn. Your application is fine. I would like to hire you. I just don't want you to think that somehow… it's a way of putting myself… above you." He shrank back a little at this last statement, which was spoken quietly and carefully.

In a moment of panic and disarray, Ralph's brain mistook "above you" for "on top of you" and even though it made no sense in context—of anything at all—he felt his face burning. He wanted to slap himself and scream, "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?" and beat his fists against his forehead for all of the thoughts that had been creeping through his mind since tea. The fact was that the idea of Jack putting himself above, or on top of Ralph was not in the least bit concerning to him.

Now was not the time for a mental break down.

"No," Ralph finally said, his blood pumping loudly in his ears. He tried to remember what it was he was objecting to. "No, I know you are not trying to get on top of me—ABOVE, me, you aren't trying to place yourself… above me. At all. By this. By hiring me…" Ralph squeezed his eyes shut and wiped the back of his hand across his brow. "Not that you have hired me, yet, while 'yet' is a little presumptuous, I know… but no. The answer is no, I don't think that you are trying to act as a superior individual over me, personally. I'm the one who came here. I'm the one who came to you."

When Ralph opened his eyes, he saw that the expression on Jack's face was something of concerned amusement, and something bewildered.

Ralph was certain that Jack was going to ask him if—no, tell him he was mad, but instead he asked:

"Are you available to start your training soon?"

He nodded. "Yes. Today. Now, even." If Jack was going to hire him, he could see no reason why.

"Then," he said, "I would like for you to work with me here."

With? He said 'with', not 'for'. Ralph was glad.

_Wait…_

Jack was hiring him. He was actually going to employ him.

"Shall we start now?" Jack said.

Did he have a choice?

A fly buzzed and thudded against the inside of an empty coffee cup on the desk, but Jack and Ralph did not notice.

"Yes."

Neither of them had any way of knowing just what they had committed themselves to.


	9. Insomnia Interlude

**Note:** This is the third time I've had to upload this and I'm tired of making the same comments over and over again. So briefly: Sorry this was a quickie, been extremely busy, watch out for some upcoming juicy content, will have to put this on a slightly more open-minded webpage soon. I don't believe in censorship so there may not be a cencored version here. Thanks for all the great comments, by the way, I just love reading what you have to say.

Part 9 – Insomnia Interlude

It was 3:30 a.m. and Ralph sat on his "bed" with a pen, a pad of paper with the bookshop's logo water-stained in the corner, a newly sharpened pencil and a cup of cheap black coffee rattling against a saucer. He hadn't slept in some time and wasn't willing to start on it again. He had too much to think about.

The paper on his lap read:

-Review of categorization duties

-Shirt provided

-Free coffee

It was a short list that he had compiled earlier that day to remind himself what would be expected at his first day of work at the book store. He would have to learn how to properly categorize things. He would receive a clean, white shirt, and would, like all the store's employees, have free coffee. Those things; just those things.

He raised his coffee cup to his lips to find that there were only a couple drops of cold, stale fluid left. He set the cup back onto the saucer. As he shifted onto his side it tipped over with a small 'clink', but it didn't matter. His attention was directed to what he'd added to his list:

-Jack sees a psychologist

-Why in therapy?

-Appointment was too short

-Lying about appointment after tea?

Ralph had a habit of writing his thoughts on paper—that way he could remember them. But this he had not even realized he'd put down until nearly half an hour after he had, and now he sat there looking at the words and wondering. He started thinking about what had happened that day. There was something strange that had occurred between lunch and the bookshop.

When Jack had left tea he said that he had an appointment with his therapist.

Fine.

Of course, it begged the question of what exactly the reason for his treatment was, but that was not an important question, though one that did deserve some further thought. Were the answers as obvious as Ralph wanted them to be? The thing that really bothered Ralph was that it had not been ten minutes after they had both left after their tea before he literally bumped into Jack at the bookshop.

There had been no appointment. There had been no time for it.

So, why would Jack lie?

It was that question that shut down his brain. Too much thinking, too much excitement, too much depression, and far too little rest. For the remainder of the early morning hours, Ralph lay on his bed – paper, pen, and coffee cup on his chest – in a deep a dreamless sleep before he was to wake again after dawn for his first day of work.


	10. Nothing Brave or Normal

Note: Finally I have a little more time on my hands. I'm not giving up on this one, so have faith. I would never leave these poor boys in dissatisfaction and anguish by abandoning their story. I'm not that cruel, and far too interested. So keep sending me reviews :) And keep reading. I love to hear your comments. And be sure to let me know if I start getting lazy.

Part 10 – Nothing Brave Or Normal

Going back to the bookshop the next day to begin his work for Jack was a bizarre feeling for Ralph and he had seriously considered forgetting about the whole thing. But he had little choice, and he understood that this job would be beneficial for him in many ways. Or at least it had the potential to be.

By the time he approached the front of the shop he knew he couldn't turn back because Greta – the cashier and telephone receiver whose name he'd learned the previous afternoon – was looking at him through the glass window. She had the same tired, cynical look on her face that she had when he'd applied the previous day. Since she saw him seeing her, Ralph couldn't stand there any longer and went in.

The place was as empty as it had been the day before. It was quiet enough that Ralph could hear the blood pulsing in his ears. He had no call to be so anxious so he tried to stomp out the butterflies inside him discretely as he uncertainly approached Greta at her desk. She was filing her monstrous nails and was pretending not to notice him.

"Hello," Ralph offered softly, and Greta looked up, one raised, inquiring eyebrow behind her thick-framed glasses. Ralph was about to ask about Jack until he realized that Jack had never specifically said that it was he who was to train Ralph. So he simply said, "I'm supposed to start training for work here today."

Greta stared at him and lowered her nail file. "Really."

Ralph's stomach twisted as though he'd made some horrible mistake. "Yes… did Jack not…?"

"_Mr. Merridew_," she began correctively, "has well informed me of your employment." She took up her nail file again and set back to work on her tobacco-stained fingers. "You two must be close. He would not normally hire under such… meagre circumstances."

Ralph wasn't sure what to say or think about that, and he felt as though he should have taken offence somehow. And were they close? He hadn't thought so. Not in any normal sense, in terms of friendship. Would they become close? Ralph didn't know. He couldn't think about that now.

"He's in his office," Greta told him, never looking up from her nails. "When you go in bring some coffee, unless you're feeling particularly brave this morning. He takes three creams, three sugars." And then she looked up making a dissatisfied face. "He could do with some male company around here, I must say. If you can, teach him how to drink coffee the way a grown man should."

Ralph might have been amused by the woman's demeanour if he didn't feel so threatened by it. He glanced around for a moment, and Greta read his mind.

"It's in the back stockroom, there's a fresh pot to your right."

Ralph nodded and walked briskly to the half-open stockroom door, seeing the coffee pot right away. Now that he had some small task, he felt as though he wasn't inconveniencing the Greta woman, which made him feel oddly safe. He wondered if the woman chose to inflict terror on everyone, or if she just took a particular disliking to Ralph alone.

He carefully counted three creams, three sugars and stirred them into a mug with the store logo on it. Jack must have arrived very early. It was 10:00 am when Ralph arrived according to the clock he'd glanced at on the wall. Jack must have been very tired and in need of caffeine, according to the way Greta presented the situation.

Ralph stirred.

He noticed that there were no cups and saucers… only a set of identical mugs. It seemed casual and comforting somehow.

Ralph stirred again, looking at the tiny clouds of milk dissolving into the rest of the liquid.

He was really working for Jack. He was bringing him coffee. Jack was training him. To his surprise, the more Ralph reminded himself of the position they were in, the more normal it seemed. But Ralph couldn't help but wonder if they could ever have an employer/employee relationship that met any standards of normality.

Ralph stirred once more, threw away the stirring stick and went to Jack's office, trying not to make eye contact with Greta on the way. He knocked at the door, and there was no answer. So he knocked again.

"Just go in, for goodness' sake!" Greta shouted, her voice jabbing at Ralph's ears, startling him.

It seemed rude to enter an inhabited room without knocking, but he did so anyways. And there was Jack, the picture of anything but threat or superiority. His head rested on his arms that were somewhat sprawled out on his desk over a large open book with very tiny printing. By his right hand was a plate covered in sugar and biscuit crumbs. He looked like a child who had fallen asleep after a long period of study.

Ralph supposed he was meant to wake him.

"Jack," he said neutrally.

Jack stirred at his desk and lifted his head, squinting at the light of his desk lamp.

Ralph abruptly put the coffee on the table in front Jack.

Jack blinked a couple of times before his troubled expression changed to one that was tired, but pleased. "Oh, hello, Ralph. Thank you." He took the coffee and sipped it briefly. "What time is it?"

Ralph glanced at his wrist automatically but saw only the pale line of un-tanned flesh where his watch had been before he sold it. "It was 10:00 when I got here. That was a couple minutes ago."

"Then you are perfectly on time and I'm acting an ass not being awake." He rubbed his hands over his face as Ralph muttered something about it being quite fine. Jack sat up a little straighter. "Please sit down. You certainly do a lot of standing."

Ralph smiled politely and took the familiar seat across from Jack.

"I suppose I should tell you now," said Jack, "that I don't sleep very well. And I don't normally sleep at work but… well. I just didn't quite get up to leaving last night, I suppose."

Ralph nodded. "I don't really sleep either."

"Hm," mumbled Jack, seeming to consider that statement, before taking another sip of coffee. "We have something in common. I think that's good."

Ralph nodded. They had a lot of things in common, and he was certain they both knew it.

There was an unnaturally long silence and Ralph felt he was expected to do or say something.

"Where did we leave off yesterday, anyways?" Jack finally said. He answered his own question. "Categorizing. Yes. Follow me then, you've got a lot of tedium ahead of you today."

Ralph stood when Jack did and watched him stretch his sleepy muscles briefly, with a small yawn. Jack's arms away from the desk, the text of the book he was reading was unknowingly revealed more clearly to Ralph, who had always been skilled at mental rotation.

Ralph refused to believe that the day had nothing but tedium in store.


	11. Scars II

Note: There has just been a brief revision here after a typo was pointed out to me. Keep reading, and thanks for all the reviews :)

Part 11 – Scars II

It was nearing the end of the workday and everyone had run out of jobs to do. To pass the last ten minutes before closing, Jack and Ralph were sorting section "A – K" on the fiction shelves, putting everything back in its rightful place after the day's customers had rearranged everything to their convenience.

The two men worked in silence. They had spoken little to each other, aside from the necessary instructions regarding categorizing, genres, packing, unpacking, restocking, and so on. It was relatively simple work and Ralph found that it might have been enjoyable if he wasn't so very aware of Jack's constant presence. Beside him. Behind him. He was always dashing back and fourth around Ralph in the narrow spaces between the high bookshelves. Jack always seemed so busy and hurried, while Ralph was never aware of any deadlines pressing customers. Now though, they simply stood, silently finding stray books and putting them back in their properly marked positions.

"Perhaps if…" Jack broke the silence but seemed to reconsider his unspoken statement or question at the sound of his own voice.

Ralph glanced at him but continued carefully arranging the books. He waited, but Jack said nothing, so Ralph turned his attention back to the bookshelf. He noticed an "A" where the "H"s were and reached out to remove it from its place. At the same time, Jack had done the very same thing and their fingers knocked together for a moment before each of them withdrew their hands and shifted apart slightly, unconsciously.

By that point, it was certain that more physical contact had passed he and Jack, in the past two days, than anyone else Ralph had encountered in a very long time. It was not only that thought that bothered him a little, but also the fact that it would actually occur to him to calculate such a thing.

"What I mean is…" Jack continued abruptly. "Perhaps if you are not already engaged for the evening, you'd like to have supper with me tonight. At my house. Nothing formal. And I will not be offended if you decline, it's nothing mandatory…" Jack was staring holes into the bookshelf.

Ralph felt naturally enthusiastic about the idea and didn't have time to ask himself why before responding. "Why?" He hadn't meant to ask it. It just came out. But now that he'd asked, he hoped for an answer. Indeed, why was Jack; his boss and… whatever else he could put such a relationship into terms for, inviting him to supper? And did either of them need a reason, or excuse?

Jack was looking down, his fingers resting on the bookshelf. "I don't know… I suppose it was very familiar of me, asking you like that. I just though that maybe we could… eat. Together. And talk. A continuation of our previous discussion over tea?"

Ralph sank to his knees slowly and gathered up a small stack of misfit "J" books he'd collected earlier, and stood, bringing them to his chest. He took a couple of seconds to consider as he did this. "I don't know what we were talking about over tea yesterday. It was all nothing, really. Why do you want to talk… to _me_?" Why did he have to keep asking questions that did not need to be asked?

Jack looked at him, fingers still having a light grip on the bookshelf. "I need to talk to someone. You know why, don't you? I thought you might understand… I just… need to talk about it. To somebody who understands." His voice was low even though they were the only ones left in the store.

Ralph realized that he'd been looking at Jack's faintly distressed eyes for too long. He diverted his attention and ran his fingers over the fresh angle of the page corners of one of the novels he was clutching. "What about your therapist?" he asked. "Don't you talk to _him_?" He felt ashamed to have suggested such a thing, but interested in what Jack had to say to it. He knew that Jack hadn't had time to go to the appointment with his therapist the day before. He knew he'd lied. And that didn't make Ralph feel any less insensitive for acting as such an interrogator. He wanted to talk to Jack and eat with him at his house. In fact, he felt flattered and interested that Jack wanted to speak openly to him about what they'd been through as children. There was no reason he could find for his almost instinctive run of questions. It was clearly making Jack uncomfortable.

"Oh." Jack chose not to respond conclusively, as if "oh" was simply enough.

Ralph wasn't certain if he should say something. Apologise? How rude did he really sound? Jack finally continued.

"I've stopped seeing my therapist," he admitted. He let one hand drop from the bookshelf. "I… we had a disagreement, about a month ago. Actually, that day we met for tea… when I was on my way to my appointment, I was thinking about something you'd said to me. You know, about your former psychiatrist, the liar. And I just kept thinking… about some of the things Dr. Berkley had been – oh, that's his name, Berkley – had been saying. Well… I realized that I didn't want to go back to that… that old quack." Jack scratched his head. "I stopped at a payphone and rang Berkley's office, and told the receptionist to cancel all my appointments. And then I came back here to check on the store, to see if anyone had responded to the notice… and there you were. And here we are now." Jack rubbed his neck and laughed nervously. He seemed to do that a lot. "More information than you needed."

Ralph felt his face burning and looked down. He felt painfully ashamed for being so suspicious of Jack when he knew so little of the man he presently was. But then, maybe that was enough to justify suspicion. "I would really enjoy dining with you. I haven't got any plans."

Jack's expression relaxed immediately.

"But why do you want to talk about… I mean, I assumed you wanted to discuss –"

"You were there with me. All those doctors and social workers and therapists… you went through that all too, didn't you? They don't know. They weren't there. And I need to talk about it… to somebody. To _you_."

Ralph thought he saw some colour coming to Jack's cheeks under his faded freckles. He must have been embarrassed. Ralph could also feel his face burning, but he didn't feel threatened or intimidated at all. The fact was that even talking about talking about the island made him itch with discomfort.

Ralph repeated, "I'd love to come to have dinner with you," and was suddenly struck by himself. Why did he say "love" instead of "like" or "appreciate"? He'd always been prone to exaggeration. He wouldn't "love" to eat dinner with Jack at his house at all. The very thought terrified him (while he was very interested and willing). But "love" certainly didn't seem like an exaggeration of "terrify". He made himself keep talking. "…But hasn't anyone told you that if you pick at old wounds they won't heal?" Ralph himself had maintained a poor childhood habit of picking at his scabs.

"Yes, I've heard that." Jack nervously stuck his hands into his pockets, not sure what to do with them having stacked all his books. "But scars – the dreadful, deep kind – don't heal, anyway."

Ralph considered that for a moment. "Then why bother trying?" More questions. He wanted to slap himself.

"Do you… do you really not want to? Don't you ever feel like you need to talk about it?" Jack let out a deep sigh and shifted his feet. "Maybe I'm insane for hanging on to it all these years…"

Ralph had a distinct urge to put his hand on Jack's shoulder in an attempt to assure him, but he never would have actually made that contact. It was not invited. "But you're right," Ralph said. "You're right, I do… I want to talk about it. Desperately, I do." He shook his head. "I don't really feel like I _want_ to talk about it though. I need to. I really think I do. Whether I like it or not."

Jack waited a second before nodding, not sure how else to respond.

As they both stood in silence, the deserted library seemed to grow even quieter. The walls and shelves seemed to stretch higher than they'd been before, and Ralph began feeling very small. He pressured himself to speak again, to clarify his response.  
"Thank you for your invitation, I appreciate it very much. I good meal with a friend is just what I need." Had Ralph been too foreword there? He felt as though he'd forced the word, but what else could he call Jack? He could never really call him "boss."

Jack smiled. His eyes looked brighter when he smiled. "I'm really glad to hear you say that."

Ralph wasn't sure if "that" was his acceptance to the invitation, or the "friend" bit. Either way, Jack was glad, and that put Ralph at ease.

"Why don't you dive back to my house with me then, and I'll give you a lift back to your flat after supper?" Jack looked over Ralph's shoulder at the clock. "I think it's safe to close for the evening."

"That sounds like a plan to me."

"I'll clock us both out. Just find the home for those there," he said, pointing at the stack of books in Ralph's arms, "and I'll be at the front."

Ralph finished placing the few stray novels and soon found Jack fumbling with some store keys at the front entrance.

"I'll have to apologize in advance," Jack said, opening the front door for Ralph. They both stepped onto the sidewalk into a patch of rusty light from a street lamp. The road was narrow and deserted, which was odd for that time of the evening.

"What for?" asked Ralph cautiously.

Jack locked the door and stuffed the keys into his pocket. "My cooking. Normally my fiancé prepares supper, but she's out of town visiting a cousin. She's really not much of a homebody."

Ralph felt as though he'd suddenly stepped into a patch of quicksand.

Jack had a fiancé.

Ralph desperately tried to get a grip on himself as he followed Jack to his parking space outside the shop. Perhaps a fiancé would explain why Ralph had found Jack asleep with a self-help book opened to a chapter called _'Unconventional Relationships: The Next Step'_. A soon-to-be wife was not the conclusion that Ralph had initially come to, and suddenly he did not feel very hungry anymore.


	12. Breaking of Bread II

Part 12 – Breaking of Bread II

"Wine?"

It was the first word spoken since the somewhat awkward, silent car ride, and since they'd strolled up to Jack's house. Ralph had internally entitled it the _'Merridew Mansion,'_ which seemed to suit the place well.

"Yes. Yes, please," Ralph responded, trying not to sound too relieved. "Wine" had been just the word he needed to hear.

"Right," Jack said with a relieved nod and a smile. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll be back in a moment." With that, he turned and went into the kitchen.

The kitchen was on the other side of the glass patio doors, past a wide, open dining room. The patio was where Ralph sat himself at a sturdy, polished, wooden table. He could see half of Jack behind a counter at the far end of the room indoors, moving around to look for something. Ralph watched him through the glass doors – one open, one closed – for a short while before turning his attention out to the yard.

He was glad for the air of the outdoors. It made him feel relaxed, which was exactly what he needed after a day of shovelling books around in the narrow spaces of the bookshop. It also made him feel extremely jealous, because from where he sat he could see an oval shaped in-ground swimming pool surrounded by a spotless deck, and a lush, green property that appropriately matched the expanse of the house itself.

Then Ralph began letting his eyes search around the raised patio for feminine touches of any kind. There were a lot of plants, vines and pottery, but he was not certain if it was exactly feminine or not. Did Jack hire a decorator? He certainly seemed to be able to afford one. The whole place was spotless and modern. Even the rustic-looking table he sat at was clearly a new and precise design, with deliberate imperfections marked into it.

Ralph looked up as the yard lights blinked on. The sun had set completely. Gazing around at the art, the water and the exotic plants, Ralph decided that it was really a meticulous paradise. The fact was that while the estate was beautiful, it emanated a sort of prudence that Ralph found mildly unappealing.

Jack placed a glass of dark, red wine on the table in front of Ralph, which surprised him a little because he didn't hear the other man come onto the porch.

"Thank you," said Ralph with a polite smile, lifting the glass.

"You're welcome to as much as you like," Jack responded, setting the bottle and a plate of various sliced cheeses and breads on the table. "But it's strong, so don't let it catch you off guard." He then took a seat across from Ralph and lifted his own glass. "Do you think we should toast to anything?"

"To Jack Merridew and his fiancé," Ralph said, trying to hide the acid he felt on his tongue. "I wish to congratulate you on the happy news."

Jack looked down a little and Ralph could have sworn he saw some of the colour drain from his face.

"Don't congratulate me," Jack said. "It's nothing new or worth celebrating." He looked up then and seemed to have regained his confidence, his and voice brightening a little. "It's just one of those things, you know?"

Ralph wasn't sure what to think or feel about that, other than that he'd surely offended his host. In his uncertainty, he smiled with mild amusement and raised his glass towards Jack's. "Here's to _those things_ then. They sure have a funny way of sorting out."

To Ralph's relief, Jack smiled and tapped his glass against Ralph's. "Very true."

They both drank.

Ralph closed his eyes for a moment and sank back into his chair. "This is delicious," he professed. He took another sip and sighed deeply. He could already feel the alcohol warming his blood. It certainly was strong, and he was glad for it.

"I'm very pleased you like it," Jack said. "Have some bread and cheese, if you like. There is an herbed mushroom and artichoke soup warming on the stove. I hope it's to your liking."

Ralph sat up a little straighter. "That was fast. Impressive."

Jack smiled and shook his head. "I didn't whip it up just now, it's from last night. The stuff keeps well."

Ralph nodded. "It sounds very good." He took another sip of wine. "Your home is so lovely," he said absently, looking out to the pool again.

"Thank you."

"I had this once," Ralph said, shutting his eyes for a moment at the embarrassment of the selfish statement. "I didn't have it, I mean. My parents did. I just lived it for a little while."

"Your family was wealthy. You lived on a ranch, didn't you?" Jack inquired.

Ralph looked across at him. Jack was sitting with his head tilted slightly to the side, with his arms resting on the table in front of him. His face was open and calm, and he looked genuinely interested. Spending enough time with a shrink could help a person learn that technique quickly.

"Yes, I did." Ralph tried not to think about what ponies' miens felt like in the clutch of his fingers. He put down his wine and looked into the glass, seeing that half of the liquid was gone already.

"I'm sure you don't remember doing so, but you told me that a long time ago," Jack said. His voice was soft.

"No, I do remember." Ralph heard his own cracked, small voice and wondered what was wrong with him. The faintest smell of apples seemed to float up to his nose from his glass of wine. He picked up the glass and took a few more sips. "That was when we were friends. And we both started out so normal and happy, you and I," Ralph mused softly, taking a piece of bread. "Just regular little brats. And now you've been spending your life living to ridiculous social expectations while I've been sinking further and further below them. Are you as miserable as I am?"

"I hope not, for your sake," he said.

"What the hell happened to us?"

Jack looked at Ralph sceptically. He didn't need to say it.

"I know. I know." Ralph took another sip of wine and wiped his bangs from his eyes.

"I admired you so much."

"I admired you, too."  
"Before—"

"_Before_," Ralph agreed, ending it there.

They had only stated what they each already knew, but it was strange for both of them. It came out quickly, and then it was gone.

"You seemed like you could do anything," Jack continued. "Everyone listened to you. And you wanted to be _my_ friend… for a little while…"

"And look at me now," Ralph said, still looking into his near empty glass. "I can't do anything. Nobody listens to me. And look at you." He couldn't look at Jack. "You've got everything. This amazing house, you're a business man, you're engaged…" Ralph's vision blurred for a moment before he saw a clear drop of liquid land quietly in his wine.

"Ralph… it's not exactly—"

"You're not even twenty and you've got things that most men work their whole lives for." He picked up his tear-laced wine and sipped at it again, before gulping down the remainder of it. He remembered learning that alcohol was a depressant, which almost made him wish he was able to stop drinking it as easily as he would have liked. It occurred to him as he lowered the glass from his lips that he was soaking up all the hospitality of the host he was blatantly insulting with envious remarks. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, placing his glass down against the table again, only to see more dark, red liquid being poured into it. Ralph looked up to see Jack kindly refilling his glass.

"Don't be sorry," Jack assured him after both of their glasses had been refilled. "You're absolutely right." He waited for their eyes to meet before continuing. "I don't deserve any of this. I didn't work for it. That's not to say I don't enjoy it, most of the time. I just _got_ it. And my engagement isn't… exactly fairy-tale perfect either."

Ralph's heart sped up a little. "Really? Why?" How interested was he really, and how interested did he sound? He realized how intrusive he might have seemed, but Jack had invited the question.

"Like I said… it's just one of those things. It kind of came with the property." He drank.

Ralph tried to think of how that made sense. "I don't understand. Do you mean that literally?"

"It's been arranged since before either of us even knew what marriage was," Jack said.

Ralph took pause. "That's… that's unfair." He was trying to wrap his mind around the concept. It was not unheard of. But he still wasn't certain whether to feel good or bad about it. He wished he didn't feel anything about it.

"Yes, well. It works out all right. Between the two of our family names, we get enough respect to find decent supper reservations at last minute, at least. We work well as a couple, I suppose." Jack swirled his drink around in his glass. "Living with each other works out nicely as well. She takes care of the house, when she's home, and she helps me keep some things organized when business gets hectic. At the company, of course. Not the shop. I bring home her shopping allowance. The sex isn't… bad either." Jack opened his mouth to elaborate, but shook his head and moved passed the issue. "We just couldn't function as we do now without being engaged, it would be _unseemly_ in the public eye. Of course, if we were never engaged in the first place, we wouldn't have to do the things that fiancés do, and we'd both be much happier."

Ralph should have had another drink before asking the next question. "Do you love her?" He hid his face in his glass again.

"Of course I don't love her, Ralph, the whole thing is ridiculous." Jack shook his head, leaning back a little. His response had come very quickly. "It's just… a mess."

Ralph was sure to carefully articulate his next question. "Does she know about me?" he asked slowly.

Jack looked at Ralph in an odd way that forced Ralph to look back into his glass. The question he posed held something that could have been dangerous.

"No, she doesn't. I don't want her to," he admitted.

"Oh," Ralph said quietly, nodding. He wasn't expecting any particular answer, but this one satisfied him.

"Because you're a part of my past," Jack explained. "You were, anyways. And she doesn't know about any of that. Of course, her family knows. Not about you, specifically, of course. About… the island. They couldn't have _not_ known, but they never told her. I don't like to talk about… all those things. And the people. They're so far away now."

Jack had just contradicted himself, and Ralph didn't know why.

In the silence that followed, Ralph reached out to take another piece of bread, although he hadn't eaten the piece he'd already taken and set in front of him.

"Ralph," Jack began, leaning foreword slightly, "I can't tell you how much it means to me that you're speaking with me like this."

After a moment Ralph nodded a little. He examined Jack's face. The words sounded calculated and misplaced somehow, but Ralph decided that it was due to nerves. In a few strange moments, as Ralph studied Jack's expression, he saw Jack studying his. What was he looking for? Ralph had to say something.

"Did you ask me here to talk?" Ralph asked finally. He had to know why anyone would plan to discuss gruesome childhood traumas over a charming supper on the patio. "In the shop today, you said you needed to talk about it… and now you're essentially saying that all that is irrelevant."

Jack seemed to consider this for a moment. Every word in the response that followed was slightly emphasized and spoken rather slowly. "I think we have _a lot to share_ with each other." He was holding firm eye contact.

Ralph felt his pulse quicken. He could only think of one more question to ask. "When did you say your fiancé is returning from her trip?" he enquired casually.

"Tomorrow evening," responded Jack automatically. Then more slowly: "We have time."

Those words echoed in Ralph's ears. "May I have some more wine, please?" he asked, pushing his glass foreword.

Jack grinned. "Certainly."


	13. Docking II

**Note: **All of your reviews have been amazing and incredibly helpful. I know I would have given up on this story a very long time ago if it wasn't for your encouraging words. A great big thanks to everyone :) Be sure to follow this story to its new website soon.

Part 13 – Docking

When Ralph woke, he knew he wasn't in his bed. He could hear water and the sound of branches and leaves rustling in the gentle wind. There was a breeze, and warm sunshine caressed his bare skin…

Ralph sat bolt upright and tried to open his eyes before any images of an exotic island entered his mind. Rubbing his sore eyes, then his stiff neck, Ralph squinted as he gazed around him. He was on the pool patio: Jack's pool patio. It was morning and the sun's rays danced on the cool, blue ripples of water in the pool. It could have been beautiful, but Ralph's head throbbed with a stabbing pain that forced him to shut his eyes against the warm, yellow light that reflected brightly off the water and white patio stones.

Ralph swung his legs over the edge of the reclined lawn chair he'd been resting in and knocked his foot against something hard and smooth on the ground. Looking down, he saw that it was an empty wine bottle. He kicked it lightly with the side of his foot and watched it roll down the patio. On its crossing it passed two other empty bottles before finally bumping into a hand that dangled over the edge of another lawn chair.

Ralph regarded Jack as he reflexively pushed back against the bottle that touched his hand, and send it rolling back over Ralph's way. Jack was fast asleep on his stomach, sprawled out across the chair in his shorts. His finely toned body looked lifeless, but certainly not weak as he lay there, entirely unaware that he was being watched.

When Ralph caught sight of a pile of clothes that lay discarded by the edge of the pool, he realized that they belonged not just to Jack, but to him as well. Ralph was lying there in his shorts just as Jack was. Feeling humiliated and undignified, Ralph scrambled to his feet and went to the pile of clothes to collect his slacks, but he couldn't find his shirt. So he quickly dressed his legs and leaned over the pool to splash some of the water in his face. It felt good, but it did not refresh him as much as he'd hoped. Unable to stand, for fear that the dizziness induced by his headache would bring him back down onto the concrete, Ralph just closed his eyes and sat on the ground.

It was time for him to do the math.

Three empty bottles of wine, plus two very hung-over young men, plus a pile of clothes on the pool patio… equalled what?

Before jumping to any conclusions, Ralph did a quick mental inventory of every one of his body parts from bottom to top. Perhaps it was rash of him to assume. He didn't care. Fortunately, everything seemed in its usual state. Nothing was sore or different… his lower lip was a little tender, and tonguing it he found a small cut. He must have done it himself when he was sleeping, or any time at all. He always bit his lips when he was nervous about something. So, Ralph had found nothing to physically suggest that anything unseemly had occurred between him and Jack the night before. Of course, he reminded himself that it was absolutely, plainly, certainly ridiculous to ever suspect such a thing might have occurred…

"You awake there?"

Ralph turned, squinting, to see Jack sitting up on the chair, rubbing his head.

"Yeah. I am." Ralph stood. He picked up the pile of clothes and brought them over to set down at Jack's feet before taking a seat back on the chair he'd awoken on. He sat facing Jack.

Jack began to sort through the clothes silently.

Ralph scratched his shoulder. He could feel sunburn coming. "I um…"

Jack looked up at Ralph and waited for him to finish. "Yeah?"

Ralph crossed his arms, unsure of what else to do with them. He needed to know, and he had to ask. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Jack found his pants and started to pull them on. He was not looking at Ralph. "I guess we caught up on old times. Why, how do you look at it?"

Ralph cocked his head to the side. "No, really, I didn't mean that in any kind of rhetorical way… I just don't remember what happened. At all. The wine." He didn't know how much more clearly he could put it.

Jack finished doing up his slacks and sat still, looking sceptically at Ralph. "You don't remember any of it?"

Ralph shook his head, looking away. He felt awful.

Jack took a long pause. "Well," he said slowly. "Do think it might be best that you don't remember? It might save you the embarrassment."

Ralph rolled his eyes, which intensified his headache. "Now I _really_ have to know."

Jack didn't respond right away.

Ralph forced himself to look up and make eye contact with the other man. He wasn't sure how to articulate what he needed to ask. "We didn't…"  
Jack blinked. "Didn't…?"

"We… we didn't…" Ralph pushed both hands through his hair. His hangover was creating more anxiety than he knew how to deal with.

"We didn't do anything illegal, if that answers any questions?"

The good-humoured tone in Jack's voice allowed Ralph to smile a little with relief. "Yes." He laughed. "That helps."

Jack smiled. "Well then. What's the last thing you remember?"

Ralph chewed his lip thoughtfully. "Bread and cheese. Up on the deck."

Jack threw his head back and laughed. "Thank you for making me explain this then," he said sarcastically.

Ralph grinned. "Well if it's all that humiliating, don't give me the details. The basics will do."

Jack nodded. "Fine. I don't believe I remember the details anyways." He scratched his head. "We talked about the things we've been doing in the past couple of years, and you asked me a lot of questions about the bookshop and the publishing company. You told me about your days as a fish boy—"

Ralph laughed and felt his cheeks redden. "Oh, god," he murmured into his hands. "I bored you with all that rubbish?"

Jack laughed as well. "Oh, it was all very informative and reminiscent! We just talked about… well, everything, I think. I don't think I've ever just… _talked_ like that to anyone. Anyways, when we ran out of things to talk about, we listened to some music for a while… and it started to get very warm so you suggested we go for a swim. Of course, you were in no state to go into the water—"

"You let me swim while I was drunk?" Ralph tried to sound disappointed but he was faintly amused.

"I could hardly have stopped you! You were very determined. Of course, you nearly drowned and I had to leap in and save you. I was very heroic." Jack lifted his chin and grinned.

Ralph smiled and shook his head. "And would my side of the story sound the same?"

Jack shrugged. He scratched his forehead. "More or less, I think."

Ralph felt incredibly relieved. Even though the other man's recollection seemed hazy and did not spark any of Ralph's own memories, he was grateful for the information. He rubbed his shoulder again.

"Oh… you're getting a burn," said Jack, looking at the shoulder Ralph had just touched.

"Yeah," Ralph said. "I always burn."

"Come up to the house, we'll put something on it." Jack stood and took Ralph by the wrist, pulling him to his feet. "And some coffee and Aspirin for your head?"

"Oh yes, please," Ralph agreed gratefully.

"You know," Jack said as they made their way across the patio, "I warned you that wine was strong."

"Mhm."

"And I don't think you ate a thing yesterday."

"Mhm."

"Do you want to take a nap or anything?" Jack could evidently hear the exhaustion in the other man's voice.

"I'll be fine," Ralph assured him.

They made their way up the stairs of the deck where the table was sloppily covered in food from the night before. From there, Ralph followed Jack through the kitchen, then into the sitting room. It was an uncluttered space with a high ceiling and beautiful furniture. There was a fireplace that had clearly not been used in a long time, a large ornamental checkerboard table, and a turntable in the corner. There was a bookshelf that held novels on the top and records on the bottom.

"Just wait here, I'll go get some aloe and Aspirin." Jack left him and headed into another room.

Ralph sat on a firm couch and waited. The room didn't let much light in and it was chillier than it had felt in the sun outside. He saw goose bumps rise on his naked arms. And then he saw his shirt draped over the arm of the chair across from him.

It took him a few moments to understand the implications of this.

Ralph went to the chair and retrieved the shirt, pulling it down over his head. He was smoothing out the wrinkles when he saw Jack walk in with a bottle of Aspirin in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He could tell by looking at Jack's expression that he was trying to calculate something in his mind very quickly.

Jack approached Ralph slowly, looking over the other's shoulder, and handed him the glass and the plastic bottle. "Here." He backed away and stood awkwardly.

Ralph took two aspirins and drank the water, placing the items on the tabletop.

"I'll make some coffee," Jack mumbled, moving to go to the kitchen.

Ralph nearly leapt out to stop him. "What was my shirt doing in here?"

Jack faced Ralph and his mouth moved, though no words came out.

Something had happened in the room the night before and Ralph knew this now. He felt like he was constantly asking questions but now he had no choice. "Were we in here last night?"

Jack shifted his weight from side to side. His hangover was clearly irritating him. "Yes. We were listening to music. I told you that."

"But why was my shirt in here?" Ralph pressed, "Why weren't all my clothes by the pool?"

Jack walked himself in a full circle, clasping his fingers behind his neck. "I knew this was coming, I just knew this…" He paused and peered up at Jack apologetically. "I should say something about last night that I didn't mention before—"

"Yes, you should, because I don't remember anything!"

"Even though I thought that maybe if you didn't remember, it would just be best if I didn't bring it up—"

"You have to bring it up. It's already been brought up now." Ralph's eagerness was apparent. "I won't be upset. Whatever it is. I'm feeling a little upset now because you can understand how it must look to me, so if you could either just justify this or dispel any of the radical ideas I've got about what might have happened…"

The telephone rang.

Ralph knew that Jack was going to take the opportunity to duck out of the conversation, and he was right. Jack only waited for the briefest moment before running to answer the phone in the other room.

Ralph let out a breath sank back onto the couch, letting his head fall back. He gazed up at the white ceiling. He could hear Jack speaking on the phone but he didn't know what he was saying. Ralph didn't know anything at that moment. He truly remembered nothing that occurred the night before and was relying on the word of someone who, while perhaps handsome and charitable, was clearly a coward and a liar. The thought of whatever had occurred that pointed to the reason why he found his shirt laying in the sitting room had not concerned him at first. There could have been a lot of innocent explanations. The fact that Jack was so hesitant about responding to his questions showed that whatever it was, it had been something that made Jack feel frightened or ashamed.

Ralph scratched his shoulder. He felt he knew what had happened, even if he couldn't remember. He was not upset with the possibilities of the situation. In fact, he was captivated. Ralph was upset only with Jack's secrecy.

Jack entered the room again.

Ralph lifted his head and eagerly awaited any explanation.

"That was my fiancée," Jack said. "She's back from her trip. I have to pick her up at the pier."

"She's early," Ralph said, remembering Jack's earlier statement.

Jack nodded. "She caught an earlier boat."

Ralph nodded. He was not about to let the conversation stray from the important issue at hand. Suddenly he had an idea, and he knew that it was manipulative, but he didn't care. "You don't have to tell me what happened here, Jack," he announced calmly. "I remember now." It was an absolute lie.

Jack's eyes widened. "You do? And you're not upset?"

Ralph shook his head. "No. People do things that they wouldn't normally do when they're drinking. Are you upset?"

"With myself, a little," Jack said. He moved across from Ralph to sit at a chair. "Not with you. You didn't do anything…"

Ralph leaned foreword suddenly. He couldn't keep it up. He felt torn. "I lied! I don't remember. I don't. Just tell me!"

Something that felt like red-hot thunder crackled between them for an instant.

Jack stood, angered. "I took your shirt off and you didn't stop it so I kissed you!" He walked behind the chair and grabbed the frame for support, and for protection it seemed.

Ralph felt very aware of his own mouth suddenly and tried to prevent himself from reaching up to touch his lips. He knew he would find nothing there. There was only a small cut. Was it from Jack's teeth? Ralph's stomach twisted, but not in a sickening manner. He wanted to remember.

"You and I were so drunk," Jack explained, swaying slightly and shaking his head side to side. "We were so drunk that we just didn't know. It was my fault, the whole thing. We were just sitting there—" He pointed to the couch where Ralph was sitting rigidly. "…And we were listening to a record and you just… you were leaning on me and I don't know why I let myself do it but I just did. I put my hands…" He stopped himself for a moment. His cheeks were crimson.

Ralph's face reddened also, in anticipation. What wasn't said was sometimes more interesting than what was perfectly clear.

"And you told me you were warm so I just took it off and you seemed like you wanted it, too, and I kissed you. And I'm sorry!" He leaned against the chair's back. "I'm so sorry that I did it and that I'm telling you. I know it's not what you want to hear. Do you see why I didn't want to tell you? I don't want you to feel humiliated. I don't want you to hate me again."

Ralph stood. "But I don't hate you. I don't! These things happen. I… I can hardly believe that I don't remember all that. I think I should." He took a step toward the chair Jack was hiding behind. "Are you ashamed? Would it be different if I were a woman? Is it worse because of your fiancée? Do you feel guilty because of her?"

Jack swallowed. "Yes, I feel guilty. But it has nothing to do with Shannon."

Ralph's heart nipped at his ribs at the sound of her name.

Jack squeezed the frame of the chair a little tighter. "I feel guilty because I had no idea how easy it would be. And that does not make me a good friend. Quite the opposite." Before giving Ralph time to respond, he turned and walked briskly into the hall, away from Ralph. He took his car keys from a tabletop and began to put on his shoes. "I have to go to the pier to get my fiancée now."

Ralph could hear him storming from room to room once his shoes were on, probably looking for the rest of his clothes.

"I can drive you home first if you want," he called. "Or you can stay longer, let yourself out and make your own way back." Jack returned to the hallway fully clothed. The sternness in his voice was covering up something else.

Ralph was dazed and staggered by everything Jack said and still hadn't thought of any appropriate response. He felt as though he'd just witnessed severe emotional whiplash.

Jack slowly walked back into the sitting room. His expression looked desperate, but his face was returning to its normal colour. "Say something, Ralph." He picked at the key ring in his hand.

"Will you please drive me? I'll only need a moment here."

Jack nodded. "Take your time." The foot tapping edgily on the ground betrayed Jack's superficial patience.

Ralph scratched his shoulder again and looked at the floor. He approached Jack, but was not evasive. He was sure to keep a certain distance that the other man had established. "I can forget about this, if you want. I can't really forget what I don't remember, but I can just… pretend to forget all about what you say happened between us last night. We can pretend it didn't go on if you want." Ralph didn't like the idea of hiding away such things, but he had to offer.

Jack nodded. "That might be best. But I've never had very good judgement. I don't want to forget about it. Maybe we should. But I… just don't want to."

Ralph shook his head. "Neither do I. I don't think this has to be… a bad, horrible thing. Whatever it is. Whatever it _was,_" he corrected.

Jack nodded. He looked very lost. "You should make sure you have all your things. We'll talk more in the car."

Five minutes later, they left the same way they had arrived 12 hours ago.


	14. A Letter II

**Note: **Long chapter. I am more than nervous about this chapter for a zillion reasons. I don't know if anyone will like it. I have hardly even had time to re-read it. Thank you all for waiting and thanks again for the wonderful reviews. And another quick note: the NC-17 version of Cowardice (not this chapter specifically, but the story as a whole) will be available on this blog within the next month or so: ww w. blurty.c om/users/saucyfanfic . (**Note on that link:** There is supposed to be an underscore between "saucy" and "fanfic" but it won't show up on here. Also, be sure to take out the spaces in the address. has a problem with this link. Got to be sneaky.) Be sure to check back there now and then to see if it's been updated yet. I'll try not to keep you waiting. Please let me know if you hate this chapter. It worries me. But I'm sure everyone will enjoy Jack's mysterious proposition in the chapter to follow :) And by the way, if anyone has way too much time on their hands and wants to start proofreading for me before I post, that would be helpful. But honestly, don't bother unless you've got the time.

Part 14 – A Letter II

The car was new, which meant it was very, very quiet. The radio was off, the windows were rolled up, and neither of the men had spoken to each other since they left the house. Ralph knew he needed to say something, but he did not yet know what. He had considered sitting in the back seat, but chose to sit in the front passenger seat beside Jack. Resting his elbow against a groove on the door, his hand under his chin, he watched out the passenger window. The sun was dimming and the sky was thickening with heavy, grey clouds. The weather had been too beautiful for too long. London was due for a storm.

"This changes things," Jack said.

Ralph tried to look at him but couldn't. "Yeah," he said. "I know." Ralph needed to bring up the bookshop, in case Jack didn't know how. "I won't have trouble getting a new job, so don't feel bad." It was a lie. It was impossible to find a job. "You don't have to sack me, I can just quit."

"I'll write you a good letter of reference," Jack assured.

Ralph was, admittedly, a little startled by the prompt response. He leaned back in his seat and began watching out the front window.

"I'm sorry," Jack added sincerely.

"It's all right, I understand."

"Tomorrow I'll give you the pay you've earned. I don't have it on me now."

Ralph nodded. He didn't want to accept it but he had to. "And don't worry about a letter of reference, I know you can't really say anything."

"I'll do whatever helps."

"I don't need a letter from you."

Jack sighed audibly and said nothing.

Ralph didn't care about the job. He couldn't think about it. He was thinking about something Jack said earlier. It was still sticking with him. "Can I ask you something?"

Jack sucked in a breath. He knew what it was about. "I won't try to stop you."

"When you said… you said something about… it was easier than you'd expected?" Ralph felt his heart quicken slightly.

Jack wrapped his fingers a little more tightly around the steering wheel. "What's your question, Ralph?"

Ralph wasn't sure. "How long had you been planning to… do that?" He couldn't say it.

Jack watched the road intently. "I shouldn't have said that. But I guess, since I did say it…" He thought for a moment. "Are you sure you don't want me to pull over before we get into this? You may decide to leap from the vehicle."

Ralph sensed the desperate, humorous tone. He felt guilty for putting Jack in an uncomfortable situation, but he knew that Jack was equally guilty for putting himself there. "I think you're making it out to be worse than it is," Ralph said. "Can you just tell me?"

It took a few moments before a response. "I think I decided that I would… try… around the time we started dinner." Jack looked over at Ralph briefly. "But I didn't think I would actually do it. I had no idea it would happen. If I hadn't been drinking… if you weren't… if you weren't so…"

Ralph could feel colour coming to his cheeks. "That's why you let me drink so much."

When Jack responded, his voice low. "Yes. I _know_ I shouldn't have. I _knew_ the whole time that it was wrong of me…"

"It just seems to me an awful lot of trouble you went through just to… to put your mouth on my face." Ralph was appalled by the awkwardness with which he spoke.

Jack's tone became frustrated. "Ralph, don't you understand what happened?" He looked at Ralph for a moment in frustration before turning his gaze back to the road.

Ralph mustered up all his courage to speak the words that followed. "We were drinking, and we kissed." He tried to keep his voice even and unfaltered, but hearing himself speak those words was difficult. "That's all that happened." Ralph's blood rushed instantly. "Right?"

"Yes, _that's all_. You say it like it's nothing." Jack paused, seeming to consider what Ralph had said. "It's not as simple as that. It was my fault. Because I… I wanted it. And I let you drink. I allowed it to happen."

"And is that so terrible?" Ralph moved his hand to cover his mouth. He was talking like an idiot and he didn't know what he hoped to prove by speaking that way. He looked down at his shoes and let his hands fall into his lap.

"Of course it is!" He shot a glance at Ralph again. "Are you being serious? This is… it's… the whole thing is so…" Jack breathed and briefly rubbed his forehead. "I have to pull over."

"Jack, I'm not going to jump out of the—"

"No, I have to pull over. My head is killing me. I can't see the road."

Ralph nodded. Jack had a hangover too, and Ralph hadn't seen him take any Aspirin.

Jack pulled over to the side of the road. They were just outside the residential limits, next to a park and a deserted walking path. Tiny droplets of rain began to fall against the windows of the car, and the walking path outside the window began to darken with moisture. The dark sky and thin wet streams that were crawling down the windows cast shadowy streaks inside the car. The two men sat for several minutes in silence, protected and warm – though not feeling so – inside the frame of the vehicle as the wind swept in more clouds and more rain.

Ralph looked over to Jack, but he had his head turned away. He was looking out the window into the park. His finely-cropped red hair looked almost mauve in the light of the stormy sky.

"Jack," Ralph said softly, gently alerting him that there was a conversation that was supposed to be taking place between the two of them.

There was no response but the increasing drum of rain against the hood of the car. Ralph knew that Jack was having difficulty speaking to him and, unfortunately, Ralph could think of no other resort than to play the guilt card.

"Jack, the least you can do is answer me after what you did."

As predicted, Jack sat up straighter in his seat and turned to face Ralph. "I told you I'm sorry!" he protested desperately. "And you said that it was nothing… serious. Didn't you?"

Ralph nodded. "Yes. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I didn't mean it." He hoped the other would understand.

Jack regarded him sceptically for a moment before relaxing against his seat again.

"There's something I need to say to you," Ralph said. Strangely, Jack's reluctance to speak gave him the courage to do so himself. Perhaps he could set an example.

Jack opened his mouth to respond but closed it again, seeming to reconsider. "There's something I need to tell you, too. But now I don't think I can." He was struggling to maintain eye contact.

Ralph felt like a child going about it all the way he was. _I'll tell you a secret if you tell me a secret_. But he was glad that Jack was willing to share. Ralph would have to go first. "I… don't know what I hope to accomplish by telling you this," Ralph admitted. He knew exactly what he wanted to accomplish by telling him, but he didn't expect to achieve any of it.

Jack was watching him patiently. Maybe a little uneasily.

Ralph continued. "I…" The words teetered on the tip of the tongue. He rubbed his cheek and looked out the window, past Jack. "I thought this would be easier. But every time I say it something horrible seems to happen."

"Nothing bad will happen," Jack told him. "It's only me."

Ralph was confused by the statement for a moment but felt immediately at ease. He chose not to wait any longer and willed himself to look Jack in the eyes. "I'm gay."

Jack's face was expressionless; unreadable. After a moment Ralph saw Jack's eyes discretely scan him head to toe, but only for a moment. Eventually the dark-haired man sank back into his seat and looked out the front window again.

Ralph didn't realize how frustrated he was until he heard his own breaths puffing out of his nose. "Say what you want. I've heard it all, I really have. My mother, my therapist, my friends… I've heard every offence there _is_, so say anything… just don't say _nothing_." He took a breath. "Please."

Jack took a breath. "That's why your mother disowned you." He was gazing into the steering wheel. "It had nothing to do with the island. She disowned you because… while you were in therapy… for all that trauma. That's when it all came out. And she found out." He looked at Ralph with a calm face. "And she left you with nothing."

Ralph could hardly believe the amount of truth he was hearing from Jack. It was not the response he'd imagined, but of all the things he might have said or done, Ralph was glad to hear his words. "How did you know that?" he asked honestly, a little amazed.

"You already told me." He took his hands off the steering wheel and faced Ralph more surely. "At tea. About how your therapist told your mother you were sick. I was thinking about what you said that day and now it makes sense. But I wouldn't have… what you said, just now… I never would have…"

"Ok." Ralph knew what he was trying to say. "If you're uncomfortable… I know that most people…"

"I don't mind. I really, really don't," Jack told him. "I feel glad that you told me."

"You do?"

Jack nodded. "Yes."

"Why?" He wished he didn't sound so hopeful.

Jack looked at him like the answer was obvious. "You trust me enough to say it."

Ralph was touched that Jack thought so, but he wasn't sure exactly how true it was. "I only told you," Ralph explained slowly, "because of what happened between us last night. It only seems appropriate that you know."

Jack's face whitened a little. "Oh."

Just as Ralph realized how close Jack was leaning in to him, the paled man straightened and leaned back into his seat.

Jack put his hands back on the wheel and looked to the front window, though nothing was visible through the thick coat of rain. "Just because of what I did, you know… it doesn't make me… I'm not… like you. And if you think I am, you're wrong."

Ralph wanted to be able to accept it. "What did you expect me to think then?"

"I don't even know what to think!" He glared at Ralph, but there was a pathetic desperation in his face that took away any threatening tone in his voice. "How can I feel anything for you? How is it possible? There are so many reasons why we shouldn't be…" He cut himself off and squeezed shook his head. "…And there's not one reason for me to be attracted to you."

Ralph's breathing quickened. His heart thudded violently. "And yet?"

Jack swallowed. "You know what I'm saying; you know exactly."

"Not _exactly_," Ralph admitted. "Just tell me, straight foreword, what we are discussing. Just say it."

Jack let out an exasperated breath and shifted in his seat. "I never thought you'd remember… I thought I would just get away with it. Not that I know exactly what I was thinking at the time, because I was as drunk as you were when it happened. I'm very attracted to you. I think you know that. And I shouldn't be. And I just can't understand anything that is going on in my life right now. You're not helping, either, because you're making it very easy for me to continue to be attracted to you. But there's no reason for it. And there's every reason against it."

Ralph told his brain and his body not to overload yet. Jack was saying he was attracted to him. This was something that Ralph was already safely sure of. There was clear evidence of it. But he didn't know how to deal with the fact that Jack didn't want to be attracted to him. And where was the attraction coming from anyways? Was it physical? Emotional? Both?

Jack let out another deep sigh and crossed his arms over the steering wheel, pressing his face into his arms. "Oh, god…" he whispered. "I'm so sorry." His voice was muffled by his sleeves.

"You're… you're not feeling very well," Ralph offered. He almost lifted a hand to rub his back, but that was probably going too far. "You've got a headache and it's hard for you to think right now. But I think that maybe you should just… stop thinking about it all for now. Don't try to name it or put a label on any of it."

Jack didn't move or speak.

"I don't know what to do," Ralph admitted softly. "Just tell me what to do. Tell me how to help."

Jack slowly pushed back from the steering wheel. "If I wanted to be smart, I would tell you not to speak to me anymore after this."

Ralph desperately hoped that there was another answer in store.

"I think maybe… when we're not hung-over… we could talk about this sometime. Maybe tomorrow?" He looked at Ralph hopefully. "Over lunch? I need to sleep on this. But I think we need to talk about it. Just not now. Not here."

Ralph nodded. "Ok." He had not expected to sound so breathless.

After a moment, Jack put the car into gear and they were back on the road. The soundless windshield wipers paved the view ahead.

"I hope your fiancé isn't caught in the rain," Ralph thought out loud. He hadn't intended the awkward timing at the mention of her name.

"She's fine," Jack assured softly; mechanically.

In the next few minutes, they were both wordless. There were so many thoughts buzzing around in Ralph's head that he wanted so badly to verbalize, but was afraid. He didn't want to say anything that would distract Jack from the road. He decided there was one thing he needed to ask. "Jack… what was it you wanted to tell me before?"

Jack bit his lip. "It's complicated," he said.

"More complicated than us?"

Jack almost grinned. "I love that you try to sum up our entire situation just by saying one word. _Us_. You make everything seem so easy."

Ralph shrugged. "Maybe it _is_ easy."

"That would be nice." He didn't seem to have much faith in the suggestion. "And yes. There is something I want to tell you. But now it's something… to ask you. It's hard. Please… let it wait until tomorrow."

Ralph nodded reluctantly. "All right."

Jack turned onto a narrower road. "This is your street, isn't it?"

It took Ralph a moment to remember that he'd written his address on his application form, and that was why Jack knew it. "Yes. Just at the end, on the left."

Jack nodded.

When they finally arrived outside Ralph's building, Jack pulled over beside the sidewalk.

"Thank you for the ride. I really appreciate it."

"You're welcome."

"…Lunch tomorrow?"

"Yes. I'll pick you up here at noon."

Ralph felt like there was something else that needed to be said. He moved to reach for the door handle but stopped himself. "Was I any good?" he asked curiously, trying to lighten the situation however he could. He didn't look at Jack.

Jack didn't need further specification. He knew what he was being asked. "You were drunk. So was I. Sloppy… but not bad."

Ralph was relieved to hear a tone of playfulness in Jack's voice. "Is it true what they say about first impressions?" Ralph asked. He might have been pushing it. He still did not look at Jack.

Jack thought for a moment. "That they can be remedied by second impressions?" he offered.

Ralph hoped it was an invitation. He had never consciously kissed anyone before. He looked down at his hand. It was resting on the seat only about a foot from where Jack's hand was. As if reading his mind, Jack's hand moved to cover his, even as Ralph watched in vague disbelief. Every inch of his body warmed under the weight of the smooth, manicured fingers on his hand. He still could not face Jack directly.

"Ralph… I know it's complicated." Jack laced his fingers between Ralph's.

Ralph licked his lips and basked in the physical attention. "Yeah."

"And… I know that I'm probably the one complicating it, especially by doing this…"

Ralph tried to breathe. He could see Jack shifting closer to him.

"_But I want it to happen_." Jack's voice was soft; just above a whisper.

Ralph was dizzy. His hand tingled where Jack was stroking it with his thumb. He wondered if it was real. "I want it too," Ralph responded quietly. "But you can't do this… if tomorrow you're going to pretend it didn't happen."

"I won't…"

"If you could just…"

"Stop talking…"

"Just tell me if it's possible…"

"Shh…"

Abruptly, Ralph felt the grip on his hand loosen, and then Jack was sitting back in his seat, hands on the wheel. He suddenly looked uninterested, and Ralph wondered if he had imagined the whole episode. Was he absolutely insane? Was his imagination getting the better of him? His head was still throbbing. Looking out the window he saw, to his relief, that he was not as insane as he had briefly suspected. A mother with her two children were bustling down the sidewalk under a large, black umbrella.

Ralph saw Jack reach for something, and with a click the windshield wipers had been turned off. The front window was slowly washed over with a deep coat of water again.

Ralph couldn't see the people on the sidewalk anymore. Which meant they couldn't see him. He knew Jack had pulled away because he didn't want to be seen. But now that they'd lost touch of whatever had come over them, Ralph didn't know how to get it back. He sighed and gripped the door handle again, but he felt his wrist back in Jack's grip.

"Ralph," Jack said, pulling Ralph to face him. "I only want to know if we want the same thing."

Ralph knew that they were both equally terrified to do the wrong thing. He quickly decided that kissing Jack was undoubtedly the right thing to do and he took the responsibility to what they both needed. Carefully placing his hand on Jack's forearm, trying not to let himself shake or falter, he leaned in to the other man and pressed their lips together. Almost instantly, he felt Jack move his lips against his and the fingers that were suddenly pressing against the back of his neck pulled him in closer. The kiss deepened. All Ralph could hear was the hard thud of rain all around them and the deep huffs rasping out of their noses after a few seconds of silently holding their breaths. Ralph's hand traveled up Jack's arm to grip his shoulder. He wanted so badly to crawl on top of the other man and press their bodies together. He wanted something deeper. But the heat of Jack's mouth and hand became overwhelming and he knew that he had to stop it before it got out of their hands.

When Ralph brought his lips away from Jack's with a soft, wet sound, he took the opportunity to look at Jack. His lips and cheeks were nearly scarlet. He looked not at all like the composed businessman he'd seen up until then. But with a few blinks and a deep breath Jack seemed to come back to himself.

Ralph realized his hand was still on Jack's shoulder, holding them close. He reluctantly let go and leaned away.

"I think we do," Jack said softly.

Ralph nodded, though he wouldn't even remember the question until after he'd returned to his flat.

When he let himself out of the car, he did not offer a "goodbye" or a wave, nor did he watch Jack's car as he heard it hum down the road, cutting through the fresh puddles. He just stood facing his building, licking his lips before the rain could wash away the taste that he believed Jack left there. Standing there, hot and cold and wet, Ralph had never felt such a strong sense of joy and dread in his whole life.


	15. Words On Paper II

**Note: **So sorry for the delay. Sorry for the short length of this chapter, too... I wrote it very quickly while I still have time. But I have a lot less on my plate now (no more job, and my play closed) so expect more frequent updates very soon. Thank you for waiting, and thank you for all your great feedback.

Part 15 – Words On Paper II

"_Ralph…_"

The hand on Ralph's shoulder startled him awake. There was someone else in his bed. Then he realized that he wasn't in his bed. He was on the floor in his apartment building's grey, water-stained hallway. Then he remembered.

"Noon already?" he asked casually, sitting up against the wall as Jack drew his hand away.

The two men crouched wordlessly, facing one another. The hallway was quiet other than the faint shuffles and murmurs that leaked out from beneath the paper-thin apartment doors lining the hall.

Jack nodded. "Yes."

Ralph placed a hand on one of the cardboard boxes containing his few possessions and drew himself to his feet. Jack took him by the arm to help pull him up, even though it wasn't necessary. Once standing, Ralph saw Jack scanning the scene discretely. He was too polite to ask about why Ralph was sleeping in the hallway in the same clothes he'd been wearing the day before, surrounded by a few brown, cardboard boxes.

Ralph suddenly felt awake enough to realize how embarrassed he was supposed to be. He didn't want to explain. Instead, he reached into his back pocket and drew out a folded piece of paper that he handed to Jack with his head hung.

Jack took the paper without a word. As he unfolded it and read the final eviction notice, Ralph crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall, peering at the stairwell at the end of the hallway. He wondered how many people had seen him sleeping there. He didn't really know any of his neighbours, so it hardly seemed to matter.

Ralph rubbed his eyes. He needed a shower. He needed to brush his teeth. He needed to find a decent amount of money very quickly so that he could store his things someplace other than the hallway. He knew he had to move from where he'd spent the previous 12 hours, and he had to do so very quickly. He didn't need another run-in with the authorities. He'd already experienced their _generosity_ the evening before when they helped him pack up his things under the instruction of the building supervisor.

He heard Jack fold up the notice.

"I don't want it," Ralph said when Jack tried to hand it back to him.

Jack froze and then put it into his pocket. Then he drew out something else from the same pocket and handed it to Ralph.

It was money.

Ralph turned his head away. "I don't want that either."

"It's yours, Ralph." He waited. "You earned it."

Ralph didn't take it. He felt ill.

After a long pause, Jack reached down and slipped the folded money into Ralph's front pocket. The contact against his upper thigh made Ralph jump and he was forced to finally face the other, who's fingers still hung at the edge of his front pocket.

"What have I done to earn this money, Jack?" Ralph spoke with slight venom.

Jack's face paled slightly as he realized the implication of the words he'd spoken. He suddenly pulled both of his hands behind his back and took a step away. "You're work at the shop. It's my legal duty to pay you. I told you I was bringing it."

Ralph was sorry for having assumed otherwise. But he still wasn't certain. "I'm sorry."

Jack nodded. "You must be hungry," he said. His renewed, casual tone attempted to disguise the peculiar exchange that had just occurred between them.

Ralph knew they'd arranged to meet for lunch, and he still wasn't sure what they hoped to accomplish by it. Anyway, he wasn't hungry. His stomach ached and he hadn't eaten. He just wasn't hungry. But he nodded.

Jack looked around a moment before lifting one of the surprisingly light boxes into his arms. "Why don't you help me take these out to the car?" he suggested. "I've got plenty of room."

As much as he felt he should have, Ralph couldn't debate. So he stacked two boxes on top of each other and lifted them up effortlessly. He followed Jack down the hall towards the stairs and wondered again why he had allowed the other man to become a part of his life. He didn't care for charity, but he had to take responsibility. Creating relationships had consequences that could not be avoided.


	16. Therapy II

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Part 16 – Therapy II

Jack crunched away at his salad contently, while Ralph could not bring himself to eat any of his. His stomach was still upset. The salad and sandwiches were generously portioned on his plate and he had a long way to go before he made a dent in the meal. He'd never been to that particular restaurant before, but it was very nice. Simple and classy. He didn't catch the name.

"Our spare room is very comfortable," Jack explained before sipping his iced tea. "It has a washroom attached. You'll have a lot of privacy."

Jack had offered his spare room as temporary lodging for Ralph until he found a job and an apartment. Ralph had little say in the matter. He couldn't say he didn't see it coming.

"I still don't know if it's a good idea," Ralph said, putting his fork down. "It doesn't feel right."

Jack put down his fork, too, and patted his clean mouth with a napkin. "It's no inconvenience."

Ralph tried to phrase his logic as tamely and politely as he could. "What about your fiancée? Is it an inconvenience to her?"

Jack froze completely for a moment before responding. "I didn't tell you, did I?"

Ralph shook his head. "Tell me what?"

Jack picked up his napkin, then put it down again, anxiously. "She… is staying with her cousin for a little while."

"I thought she came back," Ralph said. "I thought you went to get her yesterday…"

"That's what I thought, too. But she only came back to get some things." Jack drank more of his iced tea.

Ralph shook his head. Jack was deliberately keeping something from him. He had a right to do so, of course, but Ralph wanted to know. Was his fiancée leaving him? Was that a horrible conclusion to draw to so immediately? "I don't understand," he said, searching for more explanation.

Jack dropped his chin a little. "I suppose you 're going to hear about it sooner or later." He lowered his voice do hide the conversation from the others at the surrounding tables. "Her cousin is a nurse," he explained, balling up his napkin into his palm, not realizing he was doing so. "She… she had to visit her." Jack became still.

Ralph's mind raced. "Is she ill?" he asked softly.

"Not exactly," Jack said. "She… had an abortion."

Ralph's pulse quickened. "An abortion," he repeated vaguely. "It was yours?" He wasn't sure if "it" was the right word. He didn't know how to feel or react to the news. It was none of his business. He shouldn't have known this.

Jack nodded. "Yes. Mine, and also my idea. Neither of us are ready or capable of raising a child. I know this. She just hasn't realized it yet. It was the best decision."

"She didn't want to do it?"

Jack shook his head. "She's beginning to understand, though. If she really didn't want to, she wouldn't have gone to have it taken care of. Her cousin did it for her. But… she's having some problems… and she needs to stay with her cousin until she gets better." His eyes darted up for a moment. "If she gets better."

Ralph didn't know what to say. It was all such unexpected information. He would not have guessed. "What kinds of problems?" he asked.

Jack sank down a little further and rubbed the back of his neck, looking into his salad. "Grief. And… there have been other things. Bleeding and things like that… I don't know. She didn't tell me much… but I got a letter from her cousin. She didn't tell me much, either. But, between the three of us, we've decided that it's best if Shannon and I live separately for a little while. She needs to spend more time around women who understand, I guess."

Ralph, oddly, found that his appetite had returned. Jack picked up his fork again, and Ralph did the same.

"How long is she staying away?" Ralph asked. He lifted some dressed lettuce and carrots into his mouth.

Jack shrugged. "A while. A month, maybe." He seemed a little monotonous about the issue.

Ralph nodded. "Hm."

Jack regarded Ralph for a moment. "Something you'd like to say?"

Ralph took a deep breath before speaking, sure to keep his voice low enough. There were a lot of things he wanted to say. He had to choose. "Your fiancée has gone away for some time… and you've offered me your guest room."

Jack exhaled deeply. "Look, Ralph…"

"You said that you _wouldn't_ pretend nothing happened," Ralph whispered sternly.

"I'm not pretending," Jack insisted, almost stubbornly.

"Then tell me what happened in your car yesterday." Ralph's face burned with frustration.

Jack slowly straightened his posture. "You think I'm afraid to admit it."

Ralph nodded. "Yes, I do."

Jack's eyes became stern, but he said nothing.

A waitress was approaching their table to refill Ralph's water glass, but sensing the tension, she tried to pass them by.

"Miss, could you please give us a take-away box for the rest of this?" Jack called to her before she made it very far.

She backed up. "Of course." She took both their plates. "I'll be right back with your cheque." She was gone quickly.

"I'm not the mouse you think I am, Ralph," Jack said. He spoke very directly to Ralph for the first time since they'd sat down to eat.

Ralph didn't know how to reply. Suddenly very aware of the force between them, he felt something stir inside him. He wasn't certain if he was intimidated or aroused. "You know, I wasn't done my salad," he said, unsure of what else to say.

"I know that," said Jack. "Eat when we get home. I have to show you something."

Ralph was utterly confused and his heart was racing.

The waitress soon returned with two small boxes and a check. "Here," she said, and left quickly.

Jack placed a couple ten-pound notes on the cheque. He took the boxes of food in hand and stood.

Ralph rose as well. As soon as he was on his feet, Jack's arm was around his waist

before he was even sure of what was happening or why. Jack pulled their bodies tightly together in a stern embrace as he pressed his open mouth to Ralph's. Ralph knew they were in a public place and he didn't care at that moment. He pushed his hips against Jack's and buried his fingers in the man's fiery red hair, opening himself utterly to the unexpected affection. He wanted more.

Jack moved away gently, reluctantly, and looked into Ralph's dizzy eyes. "We should leave now," he suggested.

Ralph didn't have time to agree or disagree. He was being led by the hand out of the restaurant. He couldn't bear to look anywhere but ahead, afraid to see the expressions on anyone's faces. Jack pulled him out to the car parked on the curb and they both climbed in. Ralph felt oddly like they were fleeing the scene of some crime and, in a way, they were. His body was still hot from the excitement of the kiss.

Both men were still breathing rather heavily once the car was on the road again.

"You don't have to stay in the guest room," Jack said abruptly. His voice was low.

Ralph didn't respond. He wasn't sure how.

The rest of the ride was silent up until Jack pulled the car into the drive way and turned off the engine. Then it was too quiet to say nothing. They had just done something very unconventional at that restaurant and now they had to deal with it. But in that tense silence, it was when something important occurred to Ralph.

"You were going to tell me something," he said abruptly, forcing himself to bring up the issue before he forgot it again. "Yesterday… you said you had something to tell… or ask me. You said we would talk about it today over lunch… and I don't think we did. What was it?"

Jack seemed to know exactly what Ralph meant the moment he spoke of it. "That," he said monotonously. "Well… I think maybe we should move your things inside first."

Ralph shook his head. "Tell me now. Or tell me while we take the boxes in. Don't put it off, Jack, you said yourself not fifteen minutes that you're not a coward. So please don't stall." Ralph wanted him to prove that he wasn't afraid. He wanted to know what the question was. Whatever the question might have been, Ralph was nearly certain the answer was going to be yes.

Jack looked like he was about to object to something Ralph had said, but remained pensive for a moment. "Sure," he finally agreed.

They both stepped out of the car and moved to the trunk. Jack opened it up and they both began to unpack the few boxes inside. Jack wasn't saying anything during all of this, but Ralph didn't push for answers either. He was tired of asking questions. Being silent was becoming more comfortable.

"I know it's not the best time to bring this up," Jack finally said as he placed the last box on the ground and slammed the trunk closed. "Not that any time would be good, of course…" He placed their leftover food in an open box and picked it up along with one other, as Ralph picked up the other two.

"This is bad, isn't it," Ralph realized dismally.

Jack regarded him thoughtfully for a moment before turning and heading up the sidewalk to the house. Ralph followed him through the rock garden and hedges.

"It's not bad news, exactly. You just might think it's a little crazy. You see, I had this idea…" They climbed the steps to the front door. "Well, not an idea so much as a want. A curious desire, really. Hold these a moment." He carefully stacked his boxes on top on Ralph's as he fumbled with his keys at the door.

Ralph saw only the brown cardboard that he knew Jack was hiding on the other side of. He finally heard the door unlock and Jack took the boxes back.

"A desire for what?" Ralph asked as they stepped into the house. He kicked off his shoes, but Jack kept his on.

He licked his lips before turning away again. Ralph followed.

"Do you dream much, Ralph?" Jack asked.

"Yes." Ralph wondered if it was going to be an anecdote. He prayed that Jack wasn't going to ask him to attend group therapy. That was the first thing that came to Ralph's mind, but it didn't seem like something Jack would want.

"About… everything, I mean. All the things that happened."

Ralph nodded even though he was standing behind Jack, who couldn't see him. "I knew that's what you meant."

They came to the sitting room they'd been in the morning before. It looked different this time, though. The sun was on the other side of the house and there was very little light coming through the windows.

"Lets just put these here for now," Jack said. "I don't know where you want them." He placed the luggage on the floor by the coffee table. Ralph did the same. Unsure of where to move from there, they both sat on the couch.

"Sometimes," Jack continued softly, "It's like… when I dream about all of that… it's just been so long that it's easy to think it was all just a dream."

Ralph nodded. His head ached vaguely. This was the conversation they were supposed to have. It was what they kept meeting for. It was what they had connecting them… and it was finally coming out.

"And it's hard to remember what actually happened. It's hard to tell what I remember from dreams from what I remember really doing. Really seeing. Do you know what I mean?" His words and eyes made him appear so exposed. And the question wasn't an absent one. He really wanted to know if Ralph could relate.

"Yes," Ralph said leaning in and nodding. "Yes, I know exactly what you mean." It was an odd sensation. He'd only ever heard himself try to explain the way it went. The way it felt. Hearing the same words coming from someone else was a great relief. "And sometimes I'll wake up after a dream… a good dream… and I'll think that the rest of it was all a nightmare."

Jack let out a deep breath and shuffled closer to Ralph. "That's just what I was going to say." He looked at Ralph for a long time.

If it had been anyone else, the heavy gaze would have made him uncomfortable. But he wasn't at all. He knew that Jack was getting to the point.

Jack opened his mouth and seemed to bravely send his words crawling out into the open, vulnerable and helpless, before he could tuck them away again. "I'm taking a trip."

Ralph's face paled. "A trip."

Jack nodded. "Not a vacation. Not a holiday. A trip. I know a flying school who rents helicopters – and pilots of course – and I'm taking a trip."

Ralph tried to get up before he heard anymore. It didn't take long for him to understand what was going to be asked of him. He couldn't move, though, because Jack took his arm and pulled him back onto the couch.

"I just have to see!" Jack said, like he had never so badly needed to be heard. "I just have to see, Ralph. I have to go back. It's been years and I just need to know what was real."

"That's so ridiculous!" Ralph exclaimed. He shook his arm free of Jack's hand but didn't move away. "What do you hope to accomplish by doing that?"

Jack took his arm again but this time without a purpose. "I need to feel it. I thought you would understand. I just need to find out what was real and what wasn't. I don't know! I really don't! It's all a mesh of memories and inventions and lies…"

Ralph shook his head. He felt a faint tremor in his chest. "All that's on that island is pain and death. You won't gain anything."

"I need something tangible to help me remember." He was becoming desperate. "My memories don't work the way they should and I have to set myself straight. I need something I can feel – something real. Something physical."

"Me!" Ralph cried in frustration. He grasped the hand that was around his forearm and held it tightly in both hands. It was neither threatening nor endearing. "I'm physical! I'm here. I have memories." He took a breath to calm himself and reached out to take Jack's other hand. "You can use me. I'm here. You don't have to go back there."

Jack was a little stunned, but he curled his fingers around Ralph's. "I wish there was some way of explaining this in to you so that you would understand," he said solemnly. "It's like therapy."

Ralph shook his head. "It's like pouring salt on a wound."

Jack didn't respond.

Ralph hung his head. To his surprise he felt smooth fingers brushing the hair from his forehead. He did not look up.

"I'm sorry that you don't understand," Jack said. "But I'm going. And I don't know how to do it alone. Don't you think it scares me, too?"

The fingers moved away from his hair, and Ralph felt both his hands being wrapped gently in Jack's. He closed his eyes. He couldn't keep them open. Jack was casting a black spell on him.

"Please, Ralph." Jack slid a little closer to him and rubbed his hands over Ralph's. He was clearly doing everything he could to coax an agreement out of him. "I need your help," he admitted shyly; very quickly. "I won't ask you for anything else. Just do this one thing with me. For me. " There was a long pause. "I'll do anything you want."

Ralph shuddered, but he was sure he hid it. "Does it mean that much to you?" He tried to think about city streets, Chinese kitchens and steaming sewers. He tried to think of drinking fountains and suburban houses. Not bonfires. Not the ocean. Not meat. "Because I want to help you," he said cutting himself off mentally. "But I'm afraid of what might happen." He hated Jack for talking him into it, and he knew that's what was happening. He hated Jack for touching his hands and his face the way he was. He hated Jack for inviting him into his home and his private life. He hated it so much that he wanted to press his lips to Jack's neck and throat, and push him down against the arm of the couch… "I want to do this for you. I do."

"You'll be doing it for you, too. It's taken me a long time to come to this conclusion. I didn't think of it overnight. It's a difficult decision. If we go together… we can keep each other sane."

Ralph couldn't see how that would work. They had already driven each other insane. But at least they had that in common. Experimentally, Ralph drew a hand out of Jack's grasp and placed his fingers to the back of his neck. The hairs there were soft. Jack did nothing.

"Please say you'll go with me. It's so important." Jack's voice was hardly above a whisper.

Ralph nodded slightly. "I know. I know it's important to you. And… I'll go if you need me to. I think we have to be able to count on each other."

Jack exhaled in relief and mirrored his arm to Ralph's, placing it around the other's shoulder. "Thank you."

Ralph hadn't heard anyone sincerely thank him for anything in a long time. It felt good. "You're welcome," he said, a little off-guard. His fingers stroked the back of Jack's neck as he savoured the pressure around his shoulders. "But you owe me."

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	17. Help Wanted II Chapter Fragment

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Part 17 – Help Wanted II

Ralph had never enjoyed telephones. He didn't own one. They were an irritation. Jack's telephone, for example, had a particularly annoying way of ringing at the worst of possible moments, leaving Ralph sitting alone on the couch feeling somewhat unsatisfied when Jack went to answer the call. The longer he sat there listening to the murmur of Jack's voice from the other room, the more severely he regretted what he'd said moments ago. _You owe me_. Ralph didn't know why he'd said such a thing. He hadn't thought about it. He meant it, but he hadn't meant to say it. And he knew that it was impossible to have misinterpreted his message.

"I have to go to work," Jack said as he entered the room again. He smoothed his hands through the short hair that Ralph hadn't had the opportunity to muss. He looked fine to Ralph, but Jack continued to smooth out his clothes, pacing anxiously.

"To your publishing house," Ralph asked, sitting still on the couch, watching Jack's apparent disarray.

"No," he said. He unbuttoned and re-buttoned the top of his shirt. "Back to the bookshop. We're still hiring, you know. I'm just going to get my shoes." He walked briskly down the hall into the front foyer.

Ralph was glad Jack hadn't brought up the job offer again. He stood and followed to find Jack at the door pulling black shoes onto his feet.

"I lost track of time," he said.

"Don't you own a big, successful company?" Ralph asked curiously, slightly off topic.

Jack glanced up briefly with a look of slight confusion. The one he'd had ever since he'd ended the telephone call. "Yes."

"Why do you manage that little bookstore then?"

Jack stood and shoved his hands into his pockets. "It's a good way to make sure my publishing house has a home for its authors. And anyways, I've got such good people working for me that they never need me there. Everything is top-notch. So I need something to do with my time, essentially." He scratched the back of his neck and licked his lips.

Ralph nodded, satisfied with the answer but incredibly annoyed by Jack's fidgeting. He was beginning to understand the cause for it though. "Jack… nobody can tell."

Jack froze briefly. He looked ready to deny something, but did not. Instead, he exhaled deeply and nodded. "I think I'm still a little spooked by what I subjected us to in that restaurant." He laughed lightly. "Thank goodness I don't plan on eating there much."

Ralph smiled.

"Maybe take-out," Jack added as an afterthought.

Ralph nodded. "You have to go now."

Jack nodded also. "Ok." He opened the door to a cloudy, but bright, afternoon. "Settle in wherever you like."

Ralph pushed himself. "Where's your room?" He would have been able to find it, but he first had to know that it was all right.

Jack, to Ralph's relief, did not hesitate to respond. "It's just across from the sitting room."

"All right."

Jack paused. "I'll be in late. So don't think you have to be polite and wait."

Ralph offered a friendly smile. "I won't."

Jack was gripping the door handle far too tightly. "Bye then."

"Ok." Ralph knew why they were still standing there, and so did Jack. It was useless waiting for the other to do anything about it, so Ralph peeked over Jack's shoulder, seeing that there were no visible pedestrians at the end of the laneway, before leaning in to kiss Jack. It wasn't something he was used to yet, and it seemed far too casual a gesture for something that was so difficult and exhilarating.

Their lips met only for a moment before Jack turned and walked briskly to his car with his head low. He didn't look back.

Ralph went inside feeling confused, excited and surreal.

By midnight, Ralph was still wondering whether or not to pretend to be asleep when Jack arrived… whenever that would be. He lay in Jack's bed alone, but comfortable, listening to the torrential rains that echoed loudly through the house even opposite closed windows and doors. Thunder was beginning to roll in from a distance, but it was low and soothing.

Ralph momentarily wondered if he'd left the windows open in his flat. Then he remembered that he didn't live there anymore because it no longer belonged to him. Instead, he found himself in Jack Merridew's beautiful home; the home he shared with is fiancée. There were, however, certainly no traces of feminine inhabitancy in Jack's bedroom. It put Ralph at ease because it assured him that the bed he was resting in was not likely the bed that Jack and his fiancée shared. Beside the fact that they made social appearances together and shared a home, it didn't seem that the couple were much involved with each other at all.

_And sex_, a voice in Ralph's head said. _He got her pregnant. They must be intimate._

Ralph rolled onto his side and cleared his mind.

The hard rain drowned out the sound of Jack's car pulling up the driveway. But Ralph heard clearly when the front door opened and then shut again, quickly muting the sound of the storm again after the noise had drifted in through the open front door.

Ralph lay facing the far side of the bedroom, away from the door. He heard footsteps down the hall and waited, deciding that he would pretend to be asleep after all.

Nobody came into the bedroom.

After several minutes the whine of a kettle could be heard from the kitchen, followed by the gentle pang of a spoon against a cup.

Ralph waited. The more he waited the more impatient he became. He was desperate for Jack's company without even knowing why. And Jack was in the kitchen past midnight. Why wasn't he coming to bed?

Ralph pushed back the covers with a sigh and rose from the mattress.

Jack looked up from his tea when Ralph came into the kitchen rubbing his eyes.

"I woke you," Jack said apologetically, pushing himself away from the counter where he'd been leaning. His hair was wet and his pants were spotted with rain. Jack stood naked from the waist up, looking very cold as he clutched his mug of steaming tea. His coat and shirts lay on the counter by the sink, soaked in rain.

"No," said Ralph. His eyes were sponging up the image of Jack's wet, toned body, but he tried not to make it look obvious that he was so distracted. There was nothing particularly unique or special about the way Jack looked, but Ralph was now fully aware that he had never before been so attracted to anyone. "I couldn't sleep because of the storm. You got caught in the rain?"

Jack held out his arms to the sides, displaying his sopping state. "Yes." He offered no explanation.

A snap of thunder broke the silence.

"Tea?" Jack offered as he lifted the teapot.

Ralph didn't want any but he felt he needed an excuse to be there, so he nodded. "Please."

Jack turned away from him and drew a cup from the cabinet. He filled it with the hot liquid.

"Milk and sugar," Ralph requested. He stared at Jack's slender, muscled back and watched his right shoulder blade shift as he added the ingredients stirred the tea. Then Jack stopped stirring, but he did not turn around. Ralph averted his gaze, wondering if Jack could sense it.

"I hit a cat," Jack said quietly. He turned, eyes down, and handed the tea to Ralph.

Ralph took the cup silently. "Oh…" he said, unsure of how to react. He felt foolish for it, but it took him a moment to realize that Jack meant he hit the cat with his _car_.

"That's why I'm back late."

Ralph nodded. "Did it die?" He wasn't sure if it was the right thing to ask.

"Yes," he said. "I had to tell the owner." Jack sipped his tea. "I'll send some flowers tomorrow."

Ralph nodded and drank.

"I know it's depressing news. I guess it was a little arrogant of me to think that you were wondering where I was, but there you have it anyways…"

"I really was wondering." It was true. 12:30 seemed a little later than working "late" had implied. He wished that Jack hadn't told him about the cat, even though it explained the odd detachment he was sensing. What owner would let his animal wander around outdoors in such a horrible rain storm anyways? Ralph was sad, and for a moment, angry that Jack had killed the animal. It was somebody's pet. It was innocent, and probably lost in the rain. But he knew it was nobody's fault.

"Did you go out?" Jack asked aimlessly.

Was he trying to make small-talk? Between midnight and dawn small-talk was not suitable, Ralph decided. Only long, philosophical conversations or remote silence seemed appropriate at such a time of night. Ralph wasn't sure which he would have preferred. He was too tired to converse, but he had things he wanted to say. He wasn't exactly sure what yet, but words were there.

"No," Ralph finally answered. He put the warm mug to his lips again but found he'd already drank it all. How long had they been standing there? He couldn't even remember what his response had been to. Ralph hoped he hadn't wandered off in some way. He sucked back a few last sugary drops at the base of the cup and turned to place it in the sink.

The lightest pressure suddenly grazed the back of Ralph's neck; fingers, making him stiffen. He turned on the tap and rinsed the mug, suddenly feeling unable to turn back around.

"Your hair is wet," Jack said, stepping closer up behind where Ralph stood at the sink. His fingers pressed into the damp hair above Ralph's neck. "That's why I asked."

"I just showered a little while ago," Ralph said, his voice weaker than he'd intended it. He'd showered twice since Jack had gone; not because he was particularly filthy (after the first shower), but because it was one of his favourite comforts. "I hope you don't mind." He knew that Jack wouldn't mind. Ralph simply had to try not to speak any longer because suddenly he was so focused on Jack's touch and proximity that he couldn't much think about anything else.

"Don't be stupid. Of course I don't mind." Jack's hand slid down across the fair, soft skin at Ralph's neck, drawing a light shiver out of the blonde. When the fingertips met the collar of Ralph's white pyjama shirt, they stopped, though Jack moved even closer still to Ralph until his chest made contact with the other's back.

Ralph was sure that his heart was beating so hard that Jack would feel it against his bare chest. Jack's body felt cold and solid against his back.

"_You're so warm_," Jack murmured, pressing his cheek into Ralph's hair. The hand at Ralph's neck slid down his arm where it formed a loose grip.

Ralph's body warmed even more at the attention as he struggled to bring himself to turn off the water that was still running. When he did, he could not, for a long while, loosen his grip on the water taps. He wanted to, but he was afraid of what he might do with his hands. But then he felt Jack's left arm slip around his waist, pulling him back so that the full lengths of the their bodies were pressed together for the first time. Ralph didn't even notice when his hands drifted back to rest at Jack's thighs. The pants were wet and cold. They needed to come off soon.

The soft lips and warm, slow breaths against his ear weakened Ralph to the point that he had no choice but to close his eyes and let his head fall back against the shoulder behind him. He felt clean and desirable in ways that he could never recall feeling in his past. It occurred to Ralph briefly that he should perhaps feel guilty, but he simply did not. He felt only pure and wanted.

Jack slid his palm up to press it to Ralph's chest where he held it for a long time. Ralph, meanwhile, lay against him, standing with his legs parted further than he realized, his head back, and his arms behind him. Their embrace was unusual, but absurdly comfortable. Neither of them felt the desire to move at first. Then lips at Ralph's ear turned their gentle, inadvertent touches into tender kisses that dipped down and down Ralph's neck. Heat blossomed beneath Ralph's skin at every touch of the other man's lips, and he arched back as far as he could while Jack was nearly crawling over his shoulder to bring his mouth to Ralph's throat.

_Turn. Face him_. Ralph was becoming less afraid, but not necessarily courageous. He gently gripped the hand at his chest and tore it away slowly so that he could move to face the other. Jack seemed reluctant to let their lips meet, pressing firmer kisses against Ralph's neck and tightening his grip. Ralph persisted and turned himself around to face Jack, who never took his mouth away, and he was becoming more insistent.

Jack's tongue darted out to taste Ralph's skin. He was pushing his body more firmly against Ralph's until both of their pants became damp with the cold rain clinging to Jack's clothes. As Jack pressed the length of his body up even more firmly the counter was digging into Ralph's lower back, but Ralph hardly noticed. All that he could feel Jack's warm mouth moving lower down his throat, and he began to helplessly lean further back over the counter, undoing his body in utter acceptance of what was happening.

When Jack wrapped his arms around Ralph's back, moving his lips again to his neck, every touch was amplified by Ralph's emergent lust. He was hungry for Jack, and he felt Jack's same hunger in surreal clarity with every nudge of his hips and with each warm, smooth movement of the lips and tongue at his tender throat and neck.

As all this happened, Ralph could only remain motionless until he felt a hand snake around his front and down to the crotch of his pants. Long fingers grabbed at him through the fabric of his pants and something suddenly snapped inside Ralph's brain like a reflex. He impulsively pushed Jack away. It had gone too far. It was happening too quickly.

Eye contact. Confusion.

Ralph felt humiliated.

"I thought you wanted it," Jack said breathlessly. He looked like he wanted to advance on Ralph again but he didn't. He stood stark still, winded and red-faced.

Ralph couldn't ignore the heat surging through his veins or the severe pleasure he felt in the ways that Jack touched him and held him. "What we're doing… feels…" He wondered what he was going to say. It felt good. It felt incredible. It felt like liberation. He'd never in his life been so physically intimate with anyone and it was almost overwhelming. In fact, it _was_ overwhelming… because it was all with Jack. And then he realized that he _had_ been physically intimate before, though it was not in any sense romantic or sexual. "It feels wrong," he said. The words came out heavy.

Jack took a step back. He looked completely bewildered. Then, very suddenly, he advanced on Ralph again until they were nose to nose, and he slipped his hand down between them to where it had been when Ralph pushed him away.

"But you like it," he said wryly.

Ralph felt blood rushing to his cheeks and elsewhere as Jack's hand rubbed him through his pants. Ralph tried to grab his wrists, to move him away, but Jack was stronger and was pressed up against him too tightly. Their eyes were still locked. Ralph could see his own eyes reflected in Jack's, even in the dim light.

"You like it, Ralph, I can _feel_ that you like it." Jack took his hand away and slowly laced his fingers between Ralph's. His moves his hips foreword again, pushing himself up against Ralph even more closely. "And what about what you said before… that I owe you. I do. And I want to give you everything…" He leaned in to kiss Ralph's jaw. "Everything you want." He moved to kiss the other side of Ralph's face. "You're helping me… and I just want to help you back."

Ralph swallowed hard, knowing that Jack could feel his throat contract as he did so. A hot chill raced across his flesh that begged him to remove some articles of his clothing. "But I _don't want it_." He was fully aware that, as he spoke those words, his hips were pushing back rhythmically against Jack's. He could feel that Jack's body was willing, as was his own, but in his head a little red light was going off that said, s_top, stop, stop_, with each thrust of his hips. "Stop, Jack," Ralph commanded breathily. "You have to stop it… because I don't think I can."

**THIS IS NOT THE END OF THE CHAPTER! Please look for the UNCENSORED story in the Book --> Lord of the Flies section of Adult Fanfiction . Net or continue to my Blurty account listed in my profile.**

**Thanks a lot!**


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